Shards
by Kuriuss
Summary: Tony and Loki meet in an unexpected place and in an unexpected manner. Together, they endure torture before returning to Midgard. Loki is broken and lost. Tony has his own demons. Together, and with the help of the avengers, they must heal and defeat their past. Rated M for torture, eventual (non-graphic) Frostiron. Takes place after Avengers.
1. Chapter the First

**WARNING: Yup, there's torture...**

 **I have no clue why I like writing it so much - I suppose it really is a great way to bring characters together... Ehehehe...**

 **I'm a rather sporadic writer and extremely forgetful too, so if you actually like this then feel free to prod me - I'm hoping posting stuff on here will guilt me into actually finishing stories on paper, rather than just in my head...**

 **Welp, enjoy as best as you can!**

He snatched in a ragged breath and adjusted his grip on the chains above him, hands already bloodied and sore. Blood spiralled down his back. He heard the distinct tip-tap of _her_ stepping back, then closed his eyes and tightened his grip. The whip connected with a dull roaring in his ears, and he barely stifled a scream as he felt the barbs catch and tear at his skin, before ripping away. He hated the barbs, and she knew it. Oh, the pain. It was everything and nothing, all at once. Rinse and repeat, he thought to himself. Check his grip, listen for her stepping back. Tip-tap. Tighten grip – he mustn't let go. Supress the scream – at least there was no barb this time. Just one thing to be grateful for in this endless hell. No. Hell would be a blessing compared to this place. His vision was fading, thoughts becoming muddy. A hand slick with blood slid down the chains just an inch and he snarled in the effort to hold himself up. He couldn't see. Wind his hand in the chain, left hand, done. Tip, tap. He wasn't ready. Other hand, quickly. Not quickly enough. Crack. Couldn't hold in a strangled cry of pain, his arm jerking instinctively. He couldn't let go. The other man that was kneeling, blindfolded, on a narrow ledge behind him, bare back turned to the lip of the stone chasm Loki was dangling above, had not yet felt the whip as he had. And despite himself, Loki could not endure the thought of yet another person being broken here. Should he let go, he would slip into the chasm, _her_ foul magic catching him that he might not die as the other one had, and the whip would collide not with him, but the mortal he was trying to protect. He scrambled to hold onto the chain, but despair managed to slip through the muteness surrounding his emotions as it slipped through his fingertips. He dropped an arm's length, swinging to the side, and howled weakly as his left hand twisted and cracked – still tangled in the chain. He couldn't… Think… Anymore… He made a few weak attempts to grab the other chain, but consciousness was quickly slipping away from him. " _Twenty-six, nice!"_ he heard her cry, voice rapt with delight and admiration as he slipped away slowly. Too slowly. He heard the crack of the whip and Tony Stark screamed, unused to so much pain. And then for a time he heard a blissful silence and felt or saw nothing more.

He woke in his – their – cell, and immediately his mouth was filled with a bitter taste. He pulled himself up on his good arm, glancing down at his left hand. She had healed it – somewhat. Usable, but painful. Incredibly so – as was the rest of him. A bare shadow, no doubt, of who Stark expected to see. He looked around himself and saw Stark, still blindfolded, sitting with knees tucked up in the corner. His mouth tightened and he crawled stiffly over to him, gently reaching out and touching his shoulder. Stark flinched, and Loki followed suit, terrified in an irrational fashion that he had hurt Tony, that somehow, he was to be blamed for all of this. He probably was the root of it, too, in so many ways. He swallowed dryly then reached out again and pulled Stark away from the wall, trying to see his back. Stark glared in his general direction. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse. He pulled away from Loki's touch, banging his shoulder against the wall. Loki blinked a few times then stood, reached out, and untied Stark's blindfold. He blinked and looked around, gaze alighting on Loki. "You," he snarled and stood up. "What have you done? Was destroying New York not enough? You gotta punish us for stopping you? You…" He trailed off, eyes narrowing, and looked at Loki more carefully, then at the cell bars… Impenetrable, of course. "You… Turn around."

Loki looked down with slight distaste, then obeyed Stark and turned. The back of his shirt was in tatters, revealing his horribly scarred back. He tensed as he felt a finger run down his barely healed wounds, and the deeper, uglier scars from his time here. Barely containing the urge to flinch, to cower in a corner, hide his wounds. He did not want to be an object of pity – he turned back around and glared at Stark, still not saying anything. Stark just gaped at him for some time, before finally opening his mouth. "Why… Why would you stop her from… From…" He gestured helplessly to his back, which had four red and cracked stripes across it that would definitely scar. Because he hadn't had the strength to hold on for just four lashes longer. Loki crossed his arms tightly, ignoring the twinge of pain.

Tony looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer he didn't think Loki could refuse him. Especially not in the state the god looked to be in. "Because, Stark, what has been done to me should not be done to anyone." A small pause, and something akin to humour briefly danced in his eyes. Perhaps slightly forced humour, Tony thought, but it looked like the god needed it to be there. "Not even you," he added. Tony blinked. "Ow…" he muttered, in humour acting overly sullen, as if the joke – it was a joke, judging by the slight weary lift of Loki's lips – had physically hurt. Loki's lips twitched a little wider, though the smile remained weary and almost out of place. Suddenly, Tony wondered just how long it had been since Loki had smiled – a genuine smile. He was supposed to be a psychopath, but now he just looked… Lost. Broken. As human as a god could get, he supposed. It wasn't right. He should be smiling and sarcastic, outside the cell and not inside. It was impossible to hate or want to kill… This. A broken shadow of a god.

"Our food will be here soon, Stark. Do not expect it to compare to your usual fare." He sighed, all traces of a smile gone, then all but collapsed into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. He let out a small groan and rested his head back against the wall. Barely moments later his breathing deepened somewhat, and Stark guessed he was asleep. This had to be one of the strangest encounters of his life. He sat next to Loki, not touching him. He'd gotten himself into this mess trying to find – and preferably kill – Loki, but this was… Not what he had expected. An awful thought had occurred to him – that Loki hadn't attacked New York of his own free will. Though perhaps he had just wound up here by accident, and he was still a murderer of his own free will. _A murderer wouldn't have stood between you and the whip_ , his traitorous mind muttered. He groaned softly and buried his head in his hands, ignoring the aching of his back. He'd just have to ask Loki… Though how trustworthy he was, Tony didn't know. After all, he had been blindfolded.

The food literally just appeared in front of them, just like that. Tony jumped, then gently shook Loki to wake him. He raised his head wearily, and looked around, before stretching out a long, thin, incredibly scarred hand and snagging a slice of what looked like bread infected with some kind of poisonous fungal substance. Disgusting. Loki ate only a few bites, chewing slowly, before setting it back down on the plate. He watched as Loki raised the back of his hand to his mouth and swallowed dryly a few times, before apparently deciding he wasn't going to hurl and settling back into his former position. Tony eyed the bread-thing as if it was an exceptionally unattractive employee. Then, deciding he was ravenous, he took a cautious bite. It tasted like… Bread. Slightly stale, not very well-made bread, but it wasn't disgusting. He looked at Loki again, and at Loki's slice of bread. "Have it…" Loki murmured, watching Stark through slit eyes. Stark's brow furrowed and he said something, but Loki wasn't listening any more as the dizzying exhaustion washed through him. His body was trying to heal itself, but his Alf Seidr, his magic, wasn't there anymore and there was just too much to heal any way. He drifted through a murky, heavy fog and Stark's shaking did nothing to rouse him from it, not until the sharp, clean, tip-tap of her boots cut through the gloom and he was on his feet within moments. He walked to the bars, waiting.

Oriax. How he despised her, her and the pain she represented. Her whips, her daggers, her hot irons. Her foul poisons. Yet he could still look her in the eye with barely a tremor. She stared back, a cruel smile licking up her face. Without a word, she reached through the bars, right through the iron bars, and pulled Loki out of the cell. He didn't even have the strength to resist, but he was glad that she hadn't taken Stark too. Often, she was busy doing whatever alien demonesses did, and only have time for a quick play with one victim. Said victim usually being him. Perhaps Stark would be able to try find an escape from this place – he _was_ a genius.

Stark was indeed trying to find an escape. As soon as he saw Loki being pulled through solid metal, he reached to the bars and tried pushing his hand through, but nothing happened. He sat and thought about the portal he had accidentally created and how he might reverse it to get back to stark tower. He looked around himself. Nothing, nothing, nothing and… Oh, nothing. He cursed under his breath, thinking. He'd need to be able to create something out of nothing – but he was mortal. He simply couldn't do it. So, he sat and pondered, paced and thought, but he could see no way out of a cell protected by magic, especially not with a practically dying god. Though he still wasn't sure if it all wasn't just some elaborate illusion – he still hadn't actually seen Loki tortured. Though he'd felt the scars and… He didn't know what to think. He was Tony Stark, for heavens sake, yet it had taken every single ounce of him not to shudder or quake or show any other emotion when he'd seen it. Worse, he was terrified that that was going to happen to him, too. And imagining the pain… Not a good pastime. He'd rather the scars were illusions than real things.

Despite his doubts he was up on his feet and had caught Loki the instant he was flung into the cell. His breathing was rapid, his pupils incredibly dilated. There was blood in the corner of his mouth and his left leg was a bloody mess, a hunk of twisted muscled and bone splinters. This couldn't be an illusion, not the warm blood, not the stink of the it and the stink of the pain in his nostrils, coating his mouth in a coppery taste. He laid Loki gently down, stumbled away from him, then was violently sick in the corner. "Oh, don't fret…" purred a voice from outside. It was the woman again – presumably the one who had tortured him. Them. "He's been through worse, you know…" She smiled at him brightly, though her green-black eyes remained cold. When she disappeared, Tony retched again but his stomach was empty. He curled up next to Loki, putting a hand on his neck to check his pulse. When he found it, beating erratically but still beating, he closed his eyes and just lay there, tears sliding silently down his cheeks for Loki's sake.

The woman was back the next morning – Tony assumed it was the next morning - and this time she was coming for Stark. She reached out to him before a dry, rasping voice gasped out, "Wait…" The woman looked at Loki curiously. "You… You like it when I can't… Can't… Struggle in the…" he appeared to pass out, eyes fluttering closed. The woman sighed. "Very well, he has a point." She raised a hand and Loki half-rose into the air. Tony could see his wounds knitting closed. As soon as Loki gained consciousness – still in the air – he let out a hiss of pain and Tony could only assume the healing was a painful process. When the woman dropped him, he fell to the floor then stood up, albeit shakily. "Thank you, Oriax…" he muttered, somehow managing to sound sarcastic. The woman's – Oriax's? – upper lip wrinkled slightly in an amused smirk and she pulled him roughly out of the cell. Loki had given him her name.

They were left alone for a few days after that day. Oriax liked her victims to be in well enough shape to scream, Loki said. Besides, they weren't the only ones here in what he called Thanos' hellhole. And this Thanos had sent Loki, using the mind stone to reshape his mind, with the threat of returning him to Oriax. A threat he'd completed, stealing him from the Asgardian dungeons. He'd gained a good sense of time by counting the seconds. He told Stark about the pain and how he tried to cope with it. He didn't talk much otherwise, weak as he was.

Days bled into a week, and then another. Loki stood between Stark and Oriax many times more, but nevertheless Stark gained his own collection of scars. Nothing like Loki's. He recalled clearly the first time he'd seen Loki tortured, strapped to an iron slab. Oriax had whispered to him. He'd heard – "What was it she told you, Loki? Do you remember what she taught you? Do you? Go on…" Face twisted with pain, Loki turned to Stark. "Lesson one… Is observation."

And then, a few days ago, he had been alone with Oriax and Loki couldn't do anything to stop it. He was barely conscious when he was thrown into the cell, but he heard Oriax tell Loki, "Remember what she taught you next, Loki?"

Loki had nodded, and Stark could have sworn he's seen a tear shimmering on his cheek. "Lesson two… Is pain."

And then now, and Loki had pleaded with Oriax to spare him. A mistake – Oriax noted his desperation, and she's chained Loki, forcing him to watch as she tortured Stark – by far the most pain he'd ever, ever felt, so much he couldn't even fall unconscious. He hadn't thought it was possible, but now a hazy layer of pain seemed to separate him from the welcoming blackness. So slumped on a rocky shelf, he watched Loki. Oriax seemed full of pent-up excitement. "What's the last one, Loki? What's the last one she taught you, hmmm?"

And now Loki looked something Stark hadn't seen him openly look yet. Afraid. "…No…" A whisper, a plea. Oriax grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up so her lips were at Loki's ear. "What… Did… She… Say?" she hissed loudly. Loki flinched, then turned to Stark, a single tear shining on his cheek. "Le… Lesson three is… Watching someone break." Stark would have inhaled sharply had he the strength to do so, but he could do little more than just watch and listen. And wish he didn't have to watch as Oriax piled everything she had on Loki, red-hot iron pebbles that made him cry out, barbed whips, poisoned daggers. Stark was forced to watch it all, and more. It was too much, Loki could never heal from this. He would… Break.

Oriax's smile was predatory as she drew her scarlet-tipped nails down his chest, drawing blood that welled up slowly then faster. She stepped back and watched. Loki's eyes widened and the scream he let out turned into an animalistic howl as whatever poison it was washed through him. His back arched, and he strained against his bonds, before tossing himself side to side frantically, still screaming. Oriax laughed and for a moment, Loki stopped screaming, gasping for breath, eyes locked onto Stark. "It's coming!" Hummed Oriax, and Loki's next scream was like nothing he'd ever heard before. Then silence.

And then Loki raised his head and his eyes were green, piercing green, and the shackles fell from him, as did the blood and the grime. His face was filled with fury as he stood from the slab. Oriax's face was frozen in a half laugh as Loki conjured up two giant, green, glowing whips seemingly made of pure energy and Oriax's head waved goodbye to Oriax's body. She crumpled. Loki looked at Stark, face impassive yet angry, and gestured. The pain immediately began to lessen, and Stark was suddenly standing next to Loki. He waved a hand and a portal appeared… Right into Stark tower. Where Fury and all the avengers – bar Thor, Tony noticed, happened to be. Staring right at them, faces frozen in shock. Loki pulled Stark through and the portal collapsed, leaving them… Home. Stark gaped, and so did the other avengers. He looked at himself and Loki, noting they were dressed in clothes miraculously clean and untorn, even though he could see red stains beginning to creep through Loki's shirt. The pain began to streak back as the healing petered off, and the world started to go cloudy around him.

Loki, the amazing, beautiful creature, stumbled suddenly, hand on his chest right over the largest growing stains of red, green eyes abruptly fading back to blue. Stark caught him as he lost consciousness and lowered him slightly too quickly to the floor, then promptly followed his example and collapsed over him.


	2. Chapter the Second

**I must say, I'm surprised anyone faved/follwed this, let alone left a review xD**

 **I'm not joking when I say I'm sporadic in my writing - I can't ever seem to keep up a regular schedule... But I will try to update regularly ;)**

As the first strand of consciousness returned to him, Loki was instantly aware of pain that was both there and not quite there. The dirty, grimy floor of their cell felt soft, too soft. The light shining through his lids was unusual, too. He stayed still, not moving, waiting for the world to make more sense and trying to ignore the deep throbbing in his chest. After some time, small fragments of memory returned to him – nails dragging down his chest, the _pain_ , then the exhilarating rush of magic as it briefly swept through him - a wonderful, cleansing river, and then the strain of opening a portal not just to another place, but to another dimension entirely. He shouldn't be alive, yet if the pain of his wounds was any indication, here he was.

He took a few measured breaths then opened his eyes, squinting against the too-harsh light. He'd been living in the dark and the dim fire-light for so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be able to see things with so much clarity, every detail too sharp, stabbing into his eyes. He half closed them, not wanting to fall asleep. He hadn't dreamed when he was there, but there was no Oriax here to torture him. The resulting thoughts and feelings were… Mixed. Not that he hadn't wanted her to go, but… He barely knew what living felt like any more. He'd tried to end his life before, when Thanos had found him, and after that his odd half-life as the mind stone had influenced his thoughts. And then his time with Oriax, memories he did not wish to dwell on. That was all they were – memories.

He turned, holding in a groan as his entire body protested. There was another clean, white bed beside him, and a sleeping Stark. Loki blinked again and watched him, relaxing slightly as he accepted Stark, at least, was safe. There was no telling what they would do with the man who tried to take over the world… When was it? Months ago, at the very least. Perhaps they would simply imprison him. Perhaps they would be kind and just kill him, rather than torturing him for what he had done. He tried to roll back over onto his back, but the feeling of cool air flowing over the exposed skin between the bandages – why had they bandaged him? Surely, they should have just thrown him in prison as he was. And anyway, he was tiring quickly. Even the relatively small act of turning around had exhausted him. He kept his eyes on Stark as his consciousness slipped away again, hoping there would be no dreams.

Tony woke some time after and immediately let out an "Ow…" of pain as he woke properly. He clenched and unclenched his fist, relishing the feel of fresh bed sheets – bed sheets and beds in general were wonderful inventions, he decided. The light was much brighter than he'd grown used to but after blinking a few times he found himself able to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. Gingerly, he propped himself up on the bed with his elbows, staring at the ceiling.

"Good morning, Sir," rang out JARVIS' clean British voice. Tony thought he was about to cry with relief, but settled himself with a simple, "I've missed you too, JARVs…" It might have just been him, but he was fairly sure he heard a sniff from his AI. He grinned. About to lower himself back down, he suddenly noted the bed next to him. Loki was facing him, eyes closed, asleep. Good heavens, Loki hadn't looked this relaxed since… Since he'd seen him for the first time. Tony's eyes roved over his face, pale and scarred. His chest was wrapped in bandages, the tops of three long, ugly wounds peeking out from the top of them. Tony shuddered at the memory, lying back down on the bed, facing Loki. For a while he just watched the rise and fall of his chest, glad that for once neither of them was covered in blood. He didn't even notice as he himself fell into a deep, dreamless, healing sleep.

Nick Fury got up silently from his chair in the far corner, mildly amused that neither of the two had noticed him. Loki certainly didn't appear to be a threat, though he could have Stark under mind control and be using his magic for powerful illusions. Though they would have to be powerful enough to fool some of the best Stark tech out there in medical terms, and he was pretty sure a few-hundred-year-old Norse deity wouldn't be able to understand one of those. _No underestimations,_ he counselled himself. If Loki put so much as a toenail out of line, he wouldn't hesitate to have him killed. Judging by the state in which he'd been when he arrived, Fury was of half a mind that that would be a blessing rather than a curse. He was managing well enough, though. They'd both been under heavy sedation for the past few days, only having been taken off it recently. Both were in extremely bad shape, Loki more so then Tony. Fury shook his head, wondering what the world had come to.

Exiting the room that had been quickly set up into a mini hospital, he made his way to the common room, where he found Romanoff and Barton in what appeared to be a rather heated argument, with Rogers sitting on the couch some way away, brows furrowed slightly and a small frown on his face. The pair of assassins stopped talking quickly and turned to face him, nodding in greeting. Fury ignored them and motioned to Barton. "Barton," he said curtly, before turning and striding back the way he'd came. He heard Barton give a frustrated sigh then follow him. Fury managed a small, humourless smirk, not stopping to think about whether this was really necessary – it certainly wasn't a good idea, he'd already dismissed that thought.

Barton was dragging his feet somewhat, looking extremely reluctant as he entered the room Loki and Stark were occupying. Hopefully he wouldn't try kill Loki straight off. The look he gave Fury was one of disgust and anger. Fury had explicitly banned killing Loki after he'd seen – and touched – his wounds, barely a few hours after his rather dramatic arrival. He followed Barton in and gently shut the door. All he'd told Barton was the very basics – the assassin had been ushered out of the room by Romanoff as soon as they'd recognised Loki, and though he knew Loki was wounded, Fury doubted he'd even be able to imagine the truth of it. Barton was standing over him now, staring at him with pure venom. Which abated somewhat as he noted the scars on Loki's face and his brows furrowed. "What the hell…" Fury heard him mutter. He looked on the verge of a panic attack. Fury didn't want to go through that again, so he moved towards the door, ready to leave at any moment.

Clint stared down at the monster that had made him fight his friends, that had been stuck inside his head for so long, telling him – forcing him – to do things he hated to do, locking him inside himself to watch as he hurt his co-workers, his friends, the closest thing he had to his family. This was supposed to be an emotionless, invincible monster. Clint had wanted to hurt this monster a thousand-fold more than he'd hurt Clint, but the scars made it seem as if Loki had been hurt a thousand-fold that. Clint looked at his hands – they were shaking. His hands hadn't shaken this much since he'd been a child holding his first bow. A long time ago. Gingerly, he pulled back the sheets slightly so he could see Loki better. The scarring continued down his neck and into the bandages. The movement of the sheets revealed a hand that was pale under its marring. The fingers, long and elegant from what Barton remembered, had clearly been broken and not set well. He could make out burn marks and acid marks, long scars that looked almost like claw or whip marks. And around his wrist, a wide band of callused, cracked and still-raw skin that had clearly stemmed from manacles. The world around him started to spin and he felt Fury's hand on his shoulder.

Loki was a monster. Barton's mind refused to believe he was capable of love, empathy, and other human emotions. And there was no way Loki could have been… No. He refused to think up Loki's excuses for him. He refused to think of any reasons Loki might have attacked New York, because it couldn't – or shouldn't – be possible. He felt sick as Fury pulled him out of the room. As soon as he could no longer see Loki, he shoved Fury's hand roughly away and half ran, half stumbled to his room, before gong to the bathroom and being violently sick. He hadn't even seen what was under the bandages and he had no intention of doing so – because that might convince him Loki was a victim just like he had been. He rested his head on the edge of the toilet and tried to breathe deeply. It wasn't that long before he stood up and looked in the mirror. His cheeks were wet. Hastily, he wiped them and cleaned himself up a little before going through to his bedroom, where Nat was waiting for him. She didn't say anything, just patted the edge of the bed next to her. He sat down and leaned into her, thankful for her friendship and silent company that was exactly what he needed right now.

"He can't not be a monster, Nat… He can't." he swallowed dryly, burying his face in her shoulder. She rubbed his back comfortingly, still not saying anything for another long – not long enough – while. "Remember Budapest, Clint?" she asked. Clint smiled slightly. "You and I remember Budapest very differently," he told her as he always did whenever it was brought up. Nat nodded, then drew in a breath. "Was I a monster, manipulating all those people and killing so many more?"

It was unfair that she knew him so well. "You weren't a monster, Nat…" She shook her head. "No. I just did monstrous things under the influence of the Red Room." Clint shook his head. "I know… I know you're right," he admitted, ashamed. "But I can't stop feeling angry, and…" Natasha would understand. She always did. She did now – "You think if you admit what happened to Loki, you'll feel awful for hating him and blaming him for so long." It was a statement, not a question or an accusation. Clint was glad of his friendship with Nat, so glad, because she understood him in a way nobody else could and could make more sense of his thought than Clint could himself. He nodded weakly. Nat carried on talking. "You have every right to be angry. You don't have to let go of your feelings, just… Redirect them. We were all mistaken about Loki, but all that means is that there is a bigger threat out there, and that's the real enemy. I don't think it was Loki in your head – or not Loki as himself. There was someone else, and that's who you should be angry at."

Clint understood, and he finally felt relief flow through him. There was still a chance Loki wasn't controlled in any way, there was even a very small chance of him just playing them right now. But Nat was right – he had to wait and choose the right person to act upon. He smiled grimly, thinking of the retribution he'd hand out to whoever it was. "Thanks, Nat," he said, smiling at her. She grinned back and stood up, stretching. "Want to come for a run?" she asked him. He nodded, then made his way to the door and pulled on his running trainers, inspecting the soles for dirt. Together, they walked through the corridors and towards the lift in the common room, where Fury and Steve were talking quietly together. Clint raised a hand in greeting as they passed, then got into the elevator with Nat, who was still teasing him on his wide variety of outfits. "I swear you have a larger clothes and shoes collection than the Russian queens," she was saying, poking him in the side. He let out and exaggerated groan and pretended to double up in pain. "I am wounded…" he intoned in a deep voice, and they laughed together. For now, he put aside his thoughts of Loki and the mysterious person behind everything and decided to just enjoy himself.

Fury raised his eyebrows as the pair of assassins disappeared into the elevator, squabbling and giggling like children. "I don't know how Coulson manages," he commented dryly to Rogers, who shrugged. "Give them candy – or weapons – and they're set to go." The corner of Fury's mouth twitched, as did Roger's. "Looked like taking him to see Loki worked," Rogers said eventually. Fury nodded. "Of course it did. Though for a moment I was worried – Agent Romanoff did a marvellous job with him, I must say. I don't think we'll have issues with any assassination attempts just yet." Rogers nodded again, then made a vague motion in the air that Fury took as a goodbye and left in the direction of the gym. Fury remained looking at the elevator for some time, lost in thought, before JARVIS suddenly announced, "Director Fury sir, I believe the patients are waking. You asked me to alert you should this happen." Fury blinked, surprised they were already waking. It had only been a few hours since the last time. His omni-present cloak swished behind him as he turned and walked to the room where Loki and Stark were.


	3. Chapter the Third

**I'm genuinely terrible at getting my word count high... But I promise I'll do my best to have it over 2000 in each chapter - and once the story kicks off, it'll be a lot easier ;)**

 **Thank you to all people who faved/followed/left a review - it really helps the motivation!**

This time when he awoke, he didn't have the disconcerting feeling that he was still in their cell - or at least, he didn't have it for too long – it only took him a few confused moments to remember where he was. His head felt somewhat clearer, less exhaustion weighing down on him. When he opened his eyes, the light felt as if it were attacking him, but he narrowed them into a squint and was soon able to see. Stark was still sleeping, except he was turned towards him. Loki examined him carefully. There were not-quite-healed wounds on his face. Loki felt despair wash over him. If he had only tried a little harder, Stark wouldn't have suffered so much. He should have held on for longer, stopped Oriax. He took a deep, slightly shaky breath then reached out a hand to cross the gap between their beds, and gently brush across Tony's forearm. Stark's eyes opened slightly, and he stirred. Loki withdrew his hand but kept watching him.

"Loki…" Stark muttered, sounding more than a little groggy. He blinked and rubbed his eyes with a hand that had a similar set of scars to Loki's. Loki pointedly avoided looking at it, filled with some kind of vague shame and horror. because it was his fault there were so many of those damn scars covering him. So instead, he focused on Stark's now fully opened brown eyes. He looked almost… concerned. As if he actually cared for Loki's wellbeing. He didn't think anybody did. He had arrived in Midgard not even intending to go through the portal himself, and expecting to die. These mortals... They might prove to be just as bad as Oriax. Or at least, comparably bad. Loki sighed, relaxing for a moment, before gritting his teeth and struggling into a sitting position. Tony followed suit, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and ripping some sort of needle out of his other arm. Loki's brow creased before he noticed something similar in his own arm. He shuddered, remembering many other needles, not so benign as this one seemed to be. He hastily removed it.

He was dressed in some kind of white robe, he noted. Strange. And for once, there was no blood or grime on him. He looked at his hand, twisting it this way and that in the light. "You all right?" he heard a quiet voice from behind him say. He turned to face Stark and gave a wan, not nearly convincing enough smile and a small nod. Stark didn't look too impressed by his lacklustre effort and seemed about to say something, before the door opened and both Stark and Loki focused their attention on Nick Fury as he strode in – dressed in the same black coat Loki was sure he'd been wearing the last time they had seen each other. Perhaps it was a favourite of his. Loki inclined his head slightly, breathing speeding up somewhat. He wasn't sure what the Director was going to do to him, probably something awful, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't harm Stark. His heart thrummed, because the Director never looked pleasant, and Loki was... terrified, perhaps, that he would be clapped in chains yet again and made to suffer new, Midgardian tortures. He tensed as Fury came up to him, breathing becoming shallower. He tried not to show it, but he was pretty certain he wasn't managing very well.

When the Director put a hand on his shoulder he flinched violently and pushed it away, standing and spinning around so his back was to the wall. He used it to support himself as the world briefly span around him. Memories shooting through his head, always her hand, never a good omen. Dragging him from his cell, holding him down. Dragging along his chest and the fire, the burning, shrieking fire that didn't go away… Dimly, he heard Stark yell his name. He blinked, coming back to the small room. He moved his hand from where it had clutched at his head back to his side. "Sorry…" he whispered hoarsely and sat back down on the edge of the bed, still breathing a little too quickly, but unable to stop the fear coursing through him. He heard the other bed creaking as Stark sat down too. Fury remained standing, though he'd moved a few paces away, hand on a gun strapped to his side. Loki eyed it, wondering for a moment what death would feel like after all this time. With surprising difficulty, he brought his gaze to the Fury's face and surreptitiously folded his shaking hands into his lap. Fury looked at him for a moment before sighing, hand leaving his gun. He pulled a chair from the wall behind him and settled down on it, before steepling his fingers and opening his mouth.

"I don't want to have to kill you," he stated without preamble. "But one toe out of line, and I will. There… We…" he seemed to stumble for a moment. "Nobody's going to hurt you like that," he finally said, nodding at Loki's body. "No matter what you do." Loki breathed out slightly, feeling vaguely confused. These men had more reason than any other to repeat what had been done to him. He wasn't entirely sure why Fury was declining the opportunity to do so. But... No more shackles. No more pain. The thought made his mind reel so he set it aside for later. Fury carried on talking. "Now, one thing I should make clear is that while you're here, there should be no using your magic fo-"

"I can't," Loki interrupted. "I can't use my magic." Fury raised his head suspiciously. "Then how come you opened a damn portal?" Loki opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to explain it, but Fury interrupted again. "And, come to think of it, you should probably tell me what exactly happened." Oh, Loki knew exactly what had happened. He'd felt every single twinge of pain and he could remember it all, too. but should he go down into his darkest memories, he felt sure he would shatter completely. Even the idea of telling someone else made his vision blur and heart race.

"No!" he burst out, gripping the edge of the bed tightly. "No," he continued, in a low voice. "I'm not telling you anything… Except, if I must, how I succeeded in opening a portal."

Nick Fury caught sight of the wild look in Loki's eyes as he suggested it and knew he'd made a mistake asking for that information. The god was shaking, literally shaking. He'd just had a bloody mental breakdown or something, he should have known better than to ask about it if a simple hand on the shoulder was enough to… To do _that_ to a god. Fury nodded at Loki's suggestion, slightly embarrassed and vaguely surprised that Loki was actually cooperating despite how shaken he seemed, and so Fury simply waited for him to speak as the god appeared to sort out the words in his head.

"When I… Was taken, from my cell in Asgard, Oriax placed a… A binding spell, a permanent binding spell, on my magic. As well as simply preventing me from using it, over time it… ate away at it. Permanently. It was a little time before Stark arrived that it disappeared completely. I… can never use magic again." Fury would have sworn he heard Loki's hoarse voice shaking. "But… In our final moments there, I believe that through… Through what she was doing, my… My soul? My identity? Changed just enough that it was as if I were a different person – one without the binding spell. One with magic… Enough to open a portal to another dimension. But the shift was not permanent by any stretch. I am… I am without my magic."

Fury thought about it. It made sense, in a way. The way mystical magical nonsense made sense. One thing was nagging at him, though. He was pretty sure he knew the answer already, but… "What was she doing to make that happen, Loki?" he asked quietly, not expecting an answer but hoping for a reaction. He got one – Loki's face paled suddenly and then darkened just as quickly, his hand going to his chest – three of his trembling fingers at the tops of the three long grooves he knew cut down Loki's entire chest. Fury got the gist. Torture. That mysterious Oriax had tortured Loki until he literally broke, lost control. What a… He thought of numerous words to describe her, none of them in any way pleasant. He tried not to let his anger show, but he was pretty sure his face looked as furious as his name sounded. He glanced over at Stark, who confirmed what Loki had said with a grave nod. Fury noted Stark's fingers were resting on his other wrist, which had been broken when he'd arrived. So, he'd been tortured too – it was fairly obvious just from the scars, but it was always good to double check. Fury stormed from the room without another word, swearing he'd absolutely ******* destroy whoever treated his agents (as much as Stark could be considered one) – and even his ex-enemies – that way.

He strode to his quarters, not bothering to acknowledge anyone in his path, swatting anxious agents out of his way before they could stammer out any useless words he really didn't want to hear at this time. As soon as he reached the rooms, he let out a long string of cuss-words he must have picked up in some hell-hole he'd forgotten had existed. Eventually running out of fresh vocabulary, he looked up to the ceiling. "JARVIS, could you pull up the current footage of Loki and Stark?" he asked the AI. When news of Tony Stark's disappearance had hit him, he'd immediately relocated to Avengers tower, and bullied JARVIS into agreeing to help him in the search for Stark – which they had almost, almost began to give up on. Naturally, he assumed that would continue thereafter until Stark was well enough to continue his normal life, and luckily enough JARVIS seemed to agree with him. "Right here, sir," JARVIS replied, and the video appeared on the wall.

Stark and Loki were standing up, saying something. Loki had a supporting hand on the railing at the foot of the bed and Stark was standing unaided, though he still looked pale. "JARVIS, the audio, please," he added, as the silence continued. Immediately their voices filtered into the room. "-know what do," Loki was saying, in a rather desperate voice. "I can't… I…" he attempted to move closer to Stark but stumbled and fell. Stark immediately stepped towards him and helped him off the floor, half-dragging him back to the hospital bed. There was a small stain of blood on the hospital gown where Loki had fallen – presumable he'd split open a wound on his knee when he'd fallen. "I don't know what to do anymore…" Loki continued in a hoarse whisper, his hand clutching Stark's shoulder – probably for the comfort of another being as well as the obvious need for support. Fury frowned deeply, watching as Loki went limp in Stark's grip. Stark hefted him up slightly and laid him on the bed and sat down next to him, head in his hand. A minute or so later, he raised his head and looked at Loki for a short while, before quite suddenly keeling over and falling on the bed beside him, chest rising and falling deeply. Nick Fury pursed his lips in thought, before waving his hand and saying a curt "thank you, JARVIS," and the footage disappeared.

He clenched and unclenched his fist, staring at it blankly for some minutes. He was angry. Very angry. There was a reason he was called Fury – and whoever was behind the capture and torture of Loki and Stark was about to see that reason very, very clearly. But first, he had to wait for the pair to heal. He suspected Loki would be a victim of PTSD, judging by what he had seen so far. Stark would most likely be the same – less severe, perhaps. Neither would be untouched by their experience. Now, Loki… Possible depression, from what he'd seen in the footage. Severely impacted. Could he be an Avenger eventually? It was… Not impossible. This was certainly a thought that hadn't crossed his mind before… But even without magic, Loki would be a great ally… And formidable opponent. The idea appealed to him – one of the avengers' greatest enemies into an ally. He wondered how Barton would react. No, he shouldn't let Loki officially join the avengers in some sort of public affair. The longer Loki stayed, the more the avengers would grow to know him – and hopefully accept him. If everything went well, Loki wouldn't even realise if he did join the avengers. That would be marvellous… If it ever happened.

Fury kept the thought in the back of his head, handling it as if it were the most fragile thing on Earth. It wasn't likely – Loki had to learn to live again first. But should he recover, it was definitely something to consider. But he'd seen the way Loki had looked at his gun. The guy was broken inside, and that took a lot longer to heal than any other wound – and the scars it left were so much larger, so much more painful.


	4. Fourth the Chapter

**Boo!**

It was perhaps a week or two before he began feeling less dazed, less set apart from the world, and more as if he was seeing things through his own eyes rather than another's. The memories still haunted him, plaguing him relentlessly. Those were some of the things he could remember clearly from the past – what was it, ten days since Fury had assured him that he would not be harmed? – from the past ten days. The nightmares, the writhing spectres in his head that made swinging himself out of his bed hard, so hard. The shreds of memories screaming at him just to give up, just to lay back down, close his eyes, and let himself be dragged into that deep blackness that beckoned to him. For Tony's sake, he did his best to resist it, telling himself to hope, that the future might in someway be better than the past.

It wasn't just the nightmares he remembered, though. Flashes of his waking life at Avengers Tower stood out at him, the bits in between a blur of pain, determination, and nearly-lost hope. He'd met Barton, he could remember that. The nurse had asked him if he wanted a hand unwrapping his bandages after he'd told her he could change them himself. After a few unsuccessful attempts to dislodge them, he decided he may as well bare his weakness to the one who would hate him most. So he asked for Barton – who, to his surprise, came. Pale-faced, and his hands shook as he unwrapped Loki's bandages and saw the deep horror underneath. Neither of them said anything but as Barton turned to leave, Loki gave him a nod, and a look of deep regret. An apology without words – Barton wouldn't appreciate the words of the god of lies, or what was left of him. The look Barton returned was not anger, or disgust, or even pity. Understanding. Forgiveness. The latter in small amounts, but it was there – and Loki knew he would treasure that look, that empathy from someone who had the very least motivation to show it, until the day his life ended, however near or far that day may be.

He didn't talk much at all, couldn't bring himself to do so. His throat pulsed with fire and some days he thought he should tell Tony, or the nurse, the reason it hurt so much, and why he talked so little, but some part of him wanted the pain as a reminder. It would heal eventually, he thought. Eating was near-impossible. He didn't need as much food, and had grown used to having the bare minimum, but Tony was as adamant as Loki was stubborn. He remembered agreeing to meet the Avengers properly for the first time, over breakfast. Fury had found something for Thor to do, far away, not letting him know of his brothers' return – possibly afraid for how they might both react to meeting. Loki wanted to see his brother – his _brother-_ but he didn't want to know if, after all this time, Thor would ever accept him again.

The first breakfast had not been as unpleasant as expected. Tony hadn't been eating either – they'd both been on IV drips for a substantial amount of time, and Tony had only gotten Loki to come with him for proper food after he'd threatened not to eat anything until he did so. Loki was ashamed when he had to lean on Tony on the way to the common room where they were to eat, but about three-quarters of the way there his leg had given way, and he could barely support his own weight. He was pathetically weak. Tony had slowly walked him into the room. He'd looked around, expecting glares and suspicious looks. Carefully looking around, he had seen nothing but concern, worry, and almost welcoming expressions. He hadn't said anything, sitting down. He carefully moved his cloak out of the way – he'd been adamant on wearing a cloak. It was a lovely, deep green thing that wrapped around him and concealed his scars. Stark, sitting next to him, had pushed a slice of toasted bread onto his plate. He reached out a hand to snag it and felt everyone's stares snag at his wrist. He carefully looked away and at a few small bites. Ton followed suit, managing an entire two slices. The others fell into a low, murmured conversation Loki didn't particularly wish to join in with. Tony occasionally added a few comments to it but stayed otherwise silent.

Loki also remembered being sick afterwards, as soon as he was back in the room. His stomach was rejecting the food, remembering all the times he had been fed poisons. He was retching for a while, even though he'd barely eaten anything in the first place. JARVIS directed him to Tony's rooms when he asked, wishing for a familiar face. He found Tony, wiping his face in the bathroom. He'd been sick too, though he hadn't consumed nearly the amount of poisons Loki had. It was the amount, too – they were both stick thin and their bodies still hadn't adjusted to a plentiful amount of food. They sat together on the couch in comfortable silence for a while. They didn't need words to understand what had been done to them.

He remembered moving rooms, finally being rid of the old room that reeked of that hospital stink Loki could never quite get used to. He was given a rather large room on the same floor as Stark, something he was glad of. There wasn't much else on that floor – nobody to see his pain, nobody to see his scars. He could live here quietly, blend in, become almost unnoticeable. Take care of Stark, that was his only real purpose. He couldn't, try as he might, find another reason to hang on to this life, couldn't see another reason not to finally end the pain and the awful memories. And the nightmares that plagued his dreams sometimes.

Which was another thing he remembered. Waking up in the common room on a couch, where he had fallen asleep earlier, exhausted from a long period of time spent avoiding sleep. Waking up with a raw throat from screaming. Just being able to make out the figures of the avengers shaking him, trying to shake him awake, but much clearer were the memories rolling past his eyes like an old film, visions and memories and suffocating pain. He didn't even have time to feel embarrassed or awkward that he had been woken by them, the avengers, that they had seen him like this, because he had been so tired, exhaustion a lead coating on his bones. He'd just passed out again – this time, mercifully, into a deep and silent shroud of darkness, with no dreams. No nightmares.

Stark shared those memories with him. It had taken him a long time to convince the pale-faced god to agree to eat something, and he'd had to get Nat to go and buy him a cloak. She chose him a dark-green one that was almost black. Nat must have guessed what he wanted to hide, because she didn't say a word as she handed it to him. Loki was pleased with it, he could tell, and he'd immediately drawn it round himself and agreed to go meet the avengers for breakfast. There'd been some small talk he'd engaged in, but he mostly kept to himself, as did Loki. He remembered being sick almost right after the meal and walking out of the bathroom to a similarly ill-looking Loki. He remembered that Loki had dozed off on the couch, and he remembered absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair from the god's face. The guy looked exhausted, and Tony figured he'd been avoiding sleep – he was doing the same thing.

And then today, when Loki had come down to another breakfast which he would throw up later anyway (JARVIS had kept him informed), there was a new lucidity in his eyes Tony hadn't even realised was missing. He even gave a slight smile to the other avengers as he sat next to Tony, though he kept his customary silence. Even Fury had come down for breakfast – and looked immensely pleased when he noticed Loki's faint smile – which vanished soon enough, but it had been there all the same. The avengers greeted him politely, Bruce beaming at him as usual. Breakfast continued in a more normal, relaxed manner than it had for a long time now. Loki wasn't even attempting to eat his food, Tony noticed, he was simply picking at it. He didn't push him – yet. But near the end of the meal, Loki looked up at Fury, almost immediately catching his attention.

"If I might ask," he began, licking his lips hesitantly. His voice was still hoarse, nothing like the smooth silk it had been before, but it was still just as attention-capturing. "Do you think I might be able to see Th… My brother?" There was an odd kind of longing in his eyes as he looked at Fury almost pleadingly. Fury pursed his lips then nodded and said gruffly, "I'll give him a call – you should have ten minutes to get yourself ready, if you like." Loki nodded gratefully, then ducked his head and eased smoothly to his feet, sweeping his cloak behind him as he left in the direction of his rooms. Tony nodded as Fury then followed Loki, glad he'd finally be able to see Thor.

But Loki didn't look that happy as he sat on the edge of the bed, pale as ever. Tony crossed the room and sat beside him, waiting for Loki to speak first. "I… I don't know if he'll want me back," the god finally admitted, turning into Tony and wrapping an arm around him, breathing deeply if shakily. Tony pressed him close and rested his head on top of Loki's, just as unsure. From what Fury had told him, Thor hadn't been in the best of moods when Loki had disappeared. He only hoped Thor would take the time to look at Loki, look at him properly, and see the broken soul underneath the same face of the man who'd attacked New York then 'escaped' his cell in Asgard. "We'll see, Loki. We'll see," was all the comfort he could give. They sat together another long, comforting minute then JARVIS suddenly announced, "Thor has arrived, Sir, Mr. Loki." They stood together and walked outside the room. Loki had drawn the cloak around himself until only his face was visible, probably not wishing his brother to see the worst of his scars.

Thor was striding into a room just as they arrived there, and immediately strode towards his brother. For a moment, Tony thought Thor was glad to see Loki, but then he saw his face was full of stone-cold anger. He tightened his grip around Loki, pulling him away from Thor slightly. Loki was tense, his face full of hidden disappointment and sorrow that Tony could read there, but only because he had grown to know Loki so well. "Oh no…" he had time to squeeze out, before Thor backhanded him across the chest, sending him flying into a counter nearby. He groaned as pain flared across his torso, then looked at the counter. Well. It was the same one he had confronted Loki over, almost a year ago. Maybe even a year ago, he had lost track of time. And there were the bands he'd used for the suit. Quietly, he slipped them off the desk and turned to face Thor and Loki, slipping them onto his wrists behind his back. Loki was being held up against the wall by Thor and appeared to be struggling for breath. He didn't take his hands out from the cloak, the fool. If only he showed Thor the scars – but he didn't. Of course he didn't.

Thor was saying something to him, something in a furious, low tone that was breaking Loki up inside, he could see it. See Loki's walls slamming back up into an impenetrable, faceless mask that even Stark couldn't puncture. He slammed into Thor, pushing him away from Loki and allowing him to drop to the floor and take several deep breaths, a hand that was wrapped in the deep folds of the cloak clutching at his throat. "You stay out of this, Man of Iron!" Thor growled, grabbing Loki again. Loki didn't even struggle, eyes slightly dazed. He must have hit his head pretty hard on the wall. Tony turned back to Thor and poked him, hard, in the chest. " _Look_ at him!" he snarled back, pointing at Loki with his other hand. Thor didn't even blink, just ran to the window and used Loki as a battering ram to shatter the window again. Fury and Nat burst into the room just as Thor jumped. Fury immediately began swearing and cussing, saying words that made Nat wince. Tony heard the cussing increase into yelling as he jumped out after Thor, only having time to yell, "JARVIS, deploy!" as he fell from the same window as last time. The suit reached him just as Thor, in midair, yelled "HEIMDALL!" and the Bifrost appeared, a bright streak in the sky, and swallowed him and his brother up… But not before Tony had managed to grab Loki's arm, and the world turned into a kaleidoscope of colours as they shot through the universe. He closed his eyes and held tightly onto Loki.

Heimdall was waiting for them when they arrived, and his all-seeing eyes must have seen what happened to Loki – at least on Midgard – because he immediately rushed to the god that was sprawled on the floor, blinking in a rather confused manner. "Heimdall," Thor said sharply. "What. Are. You. Doing? We need to get him to Father, and secure his cell, more guards -" Heimdall was trying to cut him off, eyes wide, but Thor yelled at him. "SILENCE!" he shouted, then quieted. "Your senses must have dulled if you believe him to be hurt – he's just a liar and a magic-user full of tricks." Heimdall stared after him as he dragged Loki down the repaired Bifrost, then gestured to Tony. "You need to tell them what happened. Odin refused to listen to me and has kept me from leaving my position. Hurry, you must tell them the truth. They won't believe Loki over Thor and I truly have doubts that they would believe his scars real. Run, Man of Iron."

Tony nodded, looking into the kind and worried eyes of Heimdall, and raced after Thor and Loki, eventually launching himself into the air to gain speed. He hadn't flown in the suit for a while, and there was no JARVIS on Asgard, so he was careful – but he managed to make it into the city, then ran after Thor. Nobody stopped him, which was odd – probably because they were too busy cheering for Thor. He arrived in a large chamber just a short time after Thor and Loki – and met, for the fist time, Thor's father. Odin, king of Asgard, who in all his majesty, wisdom and kindness was gazing at Loki as if he were the worst kind of street scum. It was pathetic, this judgement, so after a particularly nasty glare in Odin's direction he ran straight to Loki and hoisted him up so he could stand and face his father, rather than lying dazed on the floor.

"Well," said Odin, striding down from his throne. "Well."


	5. Fifth the Chapter

**I was feeling in a very writer-y mood today, so I'm spitting you out another chapter today!**

 **I noticed some grammatical errors in the first chapter that I haven't gotten around to fixing yet and probably never will fix, but I'm just pointing it out to lay my failures before you all ;) And also so you know I know, if you noticed!**

He tightened his cloak around himself ask Odin approached, glaring slightly just for show. He was sure he'd have a lovely bruise on his head… But what did it matter, when nothing did? He didn't care anymore. Even his own brother hated him, he'd heard it in Thor's voice. It had been the vague hope that his brother would sit down, talk to him, listen to him. Understand him. But no… His own brother had given up on him, just when Loki had most wanted to beg him to take him back. He supposed he deserved it. He'd done so much wrong over the years… And besides, however brutal Asgardian punishment might be, it could never come close to Oriax. Tony was here, he thought to himself suddenly. Tony shouldn't be here, Odin might do heavens knows what to him. Surreptitiously, he leaned away from Tony, trying to rely more on his own feet than Stark's shoulder. The world spun slightly, and his head throbbed.

Odin was here, standing in front of him, face more furious than Thor's thundering tantrum storms. He probably thought he'd been back in New York to harm or even kill the avengers, and that the avengers had captured him. He looked carefully at Tony, whose iron mask slid up. His brown gaze met Odin's, just as strong and unyielding. "Man of Iron." Odin said simply, then turned. "Thor, we can't have mortals on Asgard – why did you bring him here?" Thor frowned, looking at Tony angrily. "I didn't. He followed me into the Bifrost after attempting to stop me taking my brother back to the justice he deserves."

Loki hadn't thought he could crumble inside any more, but the words hit him somewhere deep inside, further tearing up the shreds of the shreds of his heart. Odin gave a thoughtful nod, then made a gesture towards Tony. "Guards," he commanded, and four of them stepped forwards. Loki took a step forwards, eyes flashing slightly, opening his mouth. "Silence!" Odin roared, raising his staff in his hand and banging it down on a floor. Loki felt his father's magic wash over him and suddenly a golden clamp appeared around his mouth, a solid weight preventing him from speaking. Tony raised his hands as if he were about to shoot the guards, but Loki put an arm across his and pushed down, forcing Tony to lower them. Both of them glared daggers at Odin, who simply pointed to the guards to take Tony to the side of the hall. Loki would have murdered Odin – had he the strength – when he noticed Tony had a similar mouthpiece. He managed to stand by himself and look Odin in the eye.

"You escaped from your cell here. You defied my justice. You have failed me as a son, no matter your true parentage. I can no longer treat you as my own." Slowly, the mouthpiece vanished, but Loki still said nothing. "Fifteen lashes and an extension of two hundred years on his sentence. See to it." Loki felt rather than saw Tony's indignance as he elbowed a guard in the gut, shaking his head violently. Odin glared at Stark. "Put the mortal in for company, too." And now Loki was indignant too, because no way was he going to let Tony live out his life in some Asgardian prison because of him. "No." he stated simply, voice low and quiet, letting Odin turn back round. "Oh?" his father asked. "Twenty-five lashes and he goes free." Odin smirked, but it was mirthless. His eyes glittered with disgust and anger. "But not back to Midgard." Loki's eyes flashed again. Odin made as if to leave, and then Loki decided there was only one way that he could make Odin see reason, and ensure Tony would be able to return to Midgard. "I'll let you into my mind. I'll let you see my memories," he whispered, even quieter than before.

Odin whirled round, eyes widening. Loki had never let anyone into his mind, ever. Only his mother, when he was younger, and only when it was absolutely necessary in his magic instruction. He'd known this would appeal to his father, because it was so… Uncalled for. So intriguing, and Odin always wanted to know the reasons for things. "The lashes first." Odin commanded, and Loki nodded, relieved that they had come to a bargain. Even if he would have to face the whip again much sooner than he'd hoped, or even contemplated on. The guards tried to pull Tony back, but he shrugged them away and glared so hard at them that they must have decided to leave him alone. Good. They wouldn't mess with him. A few more guards peeled away from the walls and led him outside to the square. He could hear Tony's – and Tony's guards' – footsteps behind him. He didn't particularly care that he was going to be given his lashes in public. It didn't matter anymore. When he looked inside, all he saw was numbness, and the urge to keep Tony alive, safe and happy.

There was a small building on the side of the square where he would be permitted to change. With remarkable speed, the guards attached heavy chains to the large, usually decorative post in the middle of the square. His stomach twisted as he remembered, remembered everything. But twenty-five lashes only, and not delivered by _her_. So, he didn't say a word as he walked into the small room and stripped himself down, donning the plain tunic and pants they had given him. He wrapped his beloved cloak around his shoulders, determined to hang onto it to the last moment. The guards were there as he emerged, immediately seizing him and roughly dragging him to the post. They ripped the cloak away from him, and hesitated. The tunic he'd been given had short sleeves, revealing his mangled arms in all their scarred, malnourished glory. He heard them mutter uneasily. One of them, eyeing the deep claw marks down his left arms, looked faintly sick, but nonetheless, the demonstrated perfect Asgardian logic. "Illusion," they grunted between themselves, then as soon as they were done backed away a little too quickly. Loki twisted his hands inside the manacles. They were loose enough that he could move them slightly, though they still rubbed on his scars a little. Not as tight as Oriax's, though they would still bite a that he was used to the feeling of chains, manacles, and the expectation of pain. He heard the crack of the whip behind him and jerked reflexively, the memories coming back. He forced his breathing to stay slow and measured.

A crowd was gathering. Focus on that. There was no sign of… Of his mother. Frigga. Thor and Odin, together on the balcony. But no Frigga. She probably did not know. Another crack and the first lash hit his back, drove the breath out of his, the memories surging back in the place of the air. He struggled with himself before his vision cleared and the pain sliced through his body. It was oddly refreshing, sharpening his focus rather than dulling it. Again. A brief surge of memories more easily pushed down with the pain helping him focus. He didn't cry out, didn't even let his expression change as the whip came down again and again. It wasn't Oriax, he had to keep reminding himself, it wasn't her. Look at the crowd of jeering Asgardians. They were not her. Odin and Thor. Not her. Tony… Tony. He was… Crying. Loki could see the few tears from here as he struggled against the guards. Twenty, he counted in his head, as the whip struck again. He had made it to forty… Forty-seven or so with Oriax. Twenty was easy. It wasn't even the pain that made it easy, the pain was insignificant. It was just pushing down the awful memories and keeping the awful fire from flooding his veins again and again.

Twenty-five, easy. He hadn't cried out once. He was stained with enough blood to hide the scars. When the guards unshackled him, he grabbed his cloak from the floor and glared at them a little, before standing and wrapping it around himself. They just gaped at him, probably astounded by the fact that he could stand. They had no idea. No idea what he had suffered and still stood up from. He led the way back to his old cell, limping, leaving a trail of blood behind. But on the way there, just as he was passing through the great hall, he saw two figures. Heimdall and Frigga. His mother… Face filled with rage. For a moment, he was terrified that even his mother hated him now. But the rage was not directed at him. For himself, he made out… Grief, anguish… Love. He stumbled towards her but the world had suddenly started to spin and the last thing he recalled was her smooth hands catching him and lowering him gently to the floor as he collapsed.

Odin stormed in moments later, a furious Tony in tow. Though Tony's anger abated somewhat as he saw the obvious anguish with which the woman – presumably Frigga – handled Loki. She'd turned him over and was muttering something under her breath. A faint light emitted from her hands, and immediately the blood vanished, leaving behind twenty-five half-healed stripes on Loki's back. Frigga shrieked, literally shrieked, as she took in the mess of scars that wasn't from the past twenty-five lashes. Odin walked quickly up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's an illusion," he insisted firmly, then motioned to the guards, who led a shaking and gaping Frigga away. Odin glared at Heimdall, who closed his opening mouth with a snap. Loki was coming back to consciousness. He sat, though he was supporting himself heavily on the floor. He reached out a hand to Odin with a slight grimace on his face and Odin laid his hand over it. Almost immediately, Loki's face morphed into a silent scream and Odin's brow furrowed, then tuned into a horrified expression. Before becoming determined, and then Loki screamed for real, trying to jerk away from Odin, but some unseen force held them both in place. He pushed his guards away with an angry snarl and moved towards Loki, but Heimdall stepped in his way. "We cannot interfere with this spell," he murmured gently, a warm hand on Tony's shoulder. Frigga was yelling at her guards, until eventually they let her go and she half-ran, half-stumbled to where Tony and Heimdall stood. Odin's face grew in fury and desperation, then became almost pleased. Loki looked as if he were being ripped apart, before howling out an animalistic, "NO!" – which Odin must have ignored, as Loki went incredibly pale and collapsed on the floor, breathing shallow, eyes closed but moving wildly beneath their lids. The spell must have lost its grip because Odin stood, face rapt with horror and deep regret.

"Frigga… I… I'm sorry." A tear shone silver on his face before disappearing into his beard. He reached for his wife, but she swatted his hand away, tears sliding openly down her cheeks. "He has no magic!" she yelled at him. "I tried to tell you! Heimdall tried to tell you before all this, but you WOULDN'T LISTEN!" The last two words were screamed. Odin was shaking, too, and strode quickly to his throne before collapsing into it, face ashen. "What did you see?" she asked him. "You owe me this much, my husband. You just tore apart the mind of my son, this is the least you could do!" Odin shook his head quickly, then drew in a small breath and, recognising the truth of her words, stretched out a slightly reluctant hand to her. She walked towards it and took it. For about a minute, they were both still. Then, Frigga withdrew her hand, face calm but grave. "Thor will continue his instruction here," she announced. "Loki is to take his place on Midgard. I will explain everything to Thor, and then he will be able to see Loki." Odin simply nodded. "I should have seen it earlier, my dear Frigga. I… I apologise. I was wrong about… About so many things. I made Thor believe his brother to be… An awful person, not..." Frigga stared at him for a moment before embracing him, her own tears falling swift.

Tony walked over to Loki, feeling sick. Sick at what Loki's own father had done to him – but strangely glad he had apologised. Loki would be glad, he hoped, that he would be accepted into his family after this awful, awful mistake. Gently, he eased Loki up. He was still unconscious, still breathing too quickly, as if he were having a nightmare. He probably was. Stark made sure to put extra venom into his glare as he left the hall, Loki limp in his arms. Wordlessly, Heimdall followed, a hand on Tony's shoulder. He looked angry, too. Angry at the mistake that should never have been made. "I tried alerting Odin as soon as I saw Loki come through the portal some weeks ago. He… I told him Loki needed help. He said Thor would take care of it and sent me away, telling me never to let him hear me speak another word of the innocence of Loki. Banishing me to my post. I… I am sorry. I should have pressed him harder – shown him the truth…" Tony sighed slightly and shifted Loki in his arms. Heimdall was right, but he doubted that Odin would have listened. As they stood, about to leave to Midgard, someone ran up behind them. Frigga – with Loki's cloak. Tenderly, she draped it over him and pressed a small kiss to his forehead, before nodding at Tony, and stepping back.

For the second time that day, the Bifrost surrounded them and pulled them back to Midgard – right outside Avengers Tower. He entered quickly, hoping not to attract too much attention, and took the elevator to the common room. The elevator door opened on a rather surprised and immediately concerned Fury, who ushered Tony to the nearest sofa and helped him lay Loki down on it. Tony stepped out of his suit as the front of it opened, and he could have sworn Fury recoiled at the look on his face – still angry at Odin and Thor, the two of them. "Thor's staying in Asgard for now," he said curtly, then promptly flung himself down on the sofa opposite Loki's and felt his eyes slide close as he started to fall asleep, emotionally as well as physically exhausted. He didn't even have time to tell JARVIS to put the suit away, so it just stayed standing in the middle of the room, near Fury. Then he fell asleep completely.

Fury had to check Loki's pulse, he looked so death-like. Beating, but erratic. Banner, entering the room, halted as soon as he saw them. Fury motioned him over, inviting him to check over Loki. He did so, and Fury was amazed that the doctor managed to more or less contain his horror at he scars on Loki's back. Both their eyes narrowed as they noticed an amount of fresh whip marks, and Fury was pretty certain he'd throttle Thor the next time he would see him. He gripped Banner and they both left the pair to sleep, Banner appearing gravely calm, Fury barely able to control his anger.


	6. The Chapter Sixth

**I posted two chapter on Sunday, one after another, just in case any of you missed it ;)**

 **Now, I re-read the last chapter and I'm pretty sure it was a bad idea to write it so late as I've made a bunch of typos and really stupid word repeats which I will correct within the next few days maximum ;)**

Odin had torn into his already fragile mind, not expecting so little resistance. Loki hadn't had any magic to put up a fight with, and the feeling of another mind inside his would have made him gag had he not been forced still by the All-Father's magic. He didn't wish to draw attention to the frayed shards of his mind, so he stood by and gave the appearance of meekness. He allowed Odin to only clearly see the merest fragments of his time _there_ and did his best to dampen the feelings he'd felt in those memories. He could tell Odin was surprised when he felt no ill intent – then horrified as he found glimpses of Loki's time with Oriax. And instantly suspicious. Loki felt his father's mind turn to grim determination… And then Odin ripped into his mind, trying to find any hidden memories. It wasn't just ripping his mind; it was destroying it.

And then he found Loki's hiding place, tucked away in some dark, far-away corner in his head, and the satisfaction lit up his emotions briefly. The terror Loki felt as Odin clawed his way into the memory, forcing Loki to relive it, was beyond even some of Oriax's methods. Dimly, he felt his body yelling 'NO!' just as his mind did. A powerful spell, but a powerful emotion to break it's restraints. Had the memory been a solid thing, Odin would have been on a little viewing platform somewhere above Stark's slumped body. Loki, however, couldn't separate himself from his memory, he was too weak, too mortal. So he had to relive every detail, of fearing he would break, fearing what would happen to Stark after he went, and the excruciating pain he could give no true words to, the fire down his chest, veins flowing with liquid torture.

He could still, somehow, feel a faint thread connecting him to Odin's mind… So, he could feel Odin's alarm as he realised Loki was inside the memory, feel the tug as Odin tried to take them both out of his mind, but he was too… Too what? Too broken, too anguished, too full of the cold-shower shock that had accompanied falling into the memory. Instead of reaching towards his father, he pushed away and away until he broke apart from his body. There was no pain in the astral realm, no bodily pain, but he still had to take several deep, gasping breaths before the astral world stopped spinning for him. Even then, he barely had the will to notice anything around him. He anchored himself just above his collapsed body and retreated deep within himself, sinking into a deep blackness of some sort of astral sleep. One thing did filter through though – Frigga pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, that he felt even in the astral realm. She didn't hate him. She didn't hate him, he thought to himself, and thought again and again.

He stayed in the astral realm for some time, pushing away at his mind, but it was in pieces and each shard was needle-sharp, stabbing at him until his astral form was raw and bleeding. Unable to stop himself, he healed himself and just let his mind cut him open again and again, the memories piercing his form as he cried out without sound. After some time, he found that even thoughts of Stark couldn't keep him from craving the pain, the distraction from the awful memories. Not even those of his mother. He found it wasn't the pain in the memories he feared – if that was so, he wouldn't long for it now. It was Oriax he shuddered at the thought of. Oriax, and whatever poison she had used on him that very last time – the only pain he had not been able to bear. Oriax was his nightmare, not because of the pain, but because of the fear. He was numb, absolutely numb, except for the despair and the fear. No more hope, he thought to himself. No more hope. And eventually, he bade his memories to stop and just lay there, willing his physical heart to stop alongside them.

Doctor Strange. Sorcerer Supreme, bearer of the cloak of levitation. And he had no flipping idea what to do with the person who had attacked New York, that had had immense magical power, but was now lying wrapped up like a baby and looking like death on the sofa in front of him. He sent a curious glance at the other sofa, where Tony Stark was sleeping. He frowned and picked up Stark's hand from where it was hanging limply over the edge of the sofa. Manacle marks, scars as if it had been broken. His brow furrowed and he stared at Loki, wondering if that had been his doing. Gently pulling back the dark green cloak, he blanched as he noticed Loki's arm – the scarring so much heavier than Starks. He slowly pulled the cloak back over him and sat down on the third sofa, between Loki and Stark. He examined Loki again, noting his breathing rate and almost vacant look – more vacant than a usual sleeping person's expression.

Slowly, he leaned back in the sofa and propelled himself into the astral realm, where he immediately found the astral form of the god sprawled just over his real body, face down. There were numerous cuts all over his skin, small ones, as if made with shards of glass. They were already half-healed – he assumed that was Loki's own doing. Slowly, he approached the god and tapped him on the back of his shoulder. No response. Growing slightly worried, he pulled him over so Loki was facing upwards. Again, without a response. The face of the god was more full of expression than that of his sleeping body – full of grief and despair, eyes only just open but Strange doubted he was really looking at anything. "Come on," he muttered, shaking the god slightly. "Get up!" he said, voice louder than usual. Loki opened his eyes more fully and seemed to focus on him somewhat, but his gaze was empty. His hand shifted slightly, pushing Strange away. Who growled and grabbed Loki, shaking him and pulling him up to his feet. He hung in mid-air, swaying slightly, but didn't fall back down. Slowly, he turned away from Strange and walked a few steps, with a pronounced limp.

"Go away…" the god whispered, looking back at Strange with the look of a dying animal, snapping at anyone who came close. Loki sat down then, looking away from Strange, and bowed his head. Strange heard his breathing almost tighten, then rush out in a small sigh of relief. He didn't understand until he saw a small trickle of blood flow from under Loki. The idiot was hurting himself in the astral realm – probably because he could heal himself here. "All righty," he spoke up suddenly. "You're getting back in your body NOW," he commanded, and pulled Loki up a second time. The god just looked lost, more lost than anyone or anything Strange had ever seen before. Strange was pretty sure he had depression – and that meant he had depression, because he didn't give out incorrect information about patients. Loki needed serious help – perhaps the avengers had recognised that, and that was the reason he wasn't rotting in some SHEILD dungeon right now. He pushed Loki down into his body, relieved when he didn't resist. As soon as he was sure Loki was actually back in his body, Strange retuned to his own and stood from the sofa, going over to Loki.

He was panting slightly, eyes open but clouded over. Strange silently helped him into a sitting position, then opened a portal to the Sanctum, where they would be able to talk in peace. As he pulled Loki through, he left a note as an afterthought – _Just gone for a talk, back soon, Dr. Strange_ – and his signature neatly written under the line of slanted text. That should do it. As he stepped into the Sanctum Sanctorum, he kept a careful hand on Loki's back. The god looked ready to crumble. He slowly walked him to two armchairs – helpfully already facing each other. He sat Loki down and lowered himself into the other one, gazing steadily at the god, analysing him, before speaking. "Sooo… I came to make sure you weren't going to harm anyone on Midgard – I assume there is no chance of that?" Loki shook his head dully. "Good. Now, I want to know two things – one, why can't I sense your magic and two, what the hell happened to you?"

Loki blinked slightly, then gave another sigh and answered curtly, "No magic." Well. That was odd, and a little surprising. He doubted Loki was lying – his spell hadn't alerted him to any lies. Strange waited but Loki didn't seem to be willing to make any attempt to respond to his second question. "I said, what th-" Loki shot him a quick, silencing glare. "I heard," he muttered. "Got captured, came to Midgard, went to Asgard, came back to Midgard," he continued after a moment's thought, then stared at Strange as if to make sure he wouldn't be questioned any further. Strange pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, then let out a sigh, realising Loki wasn't going to be sharing anything. "Ok then… Right. Fine." He looked back at the Norse deity opposite him, thinking carefully. He had to make sure Lok wouldn't run right back to Avengers towers and do something stupid – like try to kill himself. "Do you miss your magic?" he asked carefully. A minute nod in response, and a slight flicker in the god's expression.

"If… If you like," he began slowly, beginning to think he was going crazy for offering this to the guy who had nearly managed to take over New York. "I can teach you a little of my magic – mortal magic, I suppose…" He looked almost expectantly at Loki, who frowned and inspected his scarred hands. "I… I don't know," he muttered eventually. "I just… Don't really…" He threw up his hands slightly in a small, hopelessly desperate gesture. Strange nodded – he could see Loki longed for his magic, perhaps almost as much as he appeared to long for death. Perhaps that was why he'd half-refused – he thought it pointless, worthless. "If you ever want to talk, I'm always here," he answered Loki, then opened a portal for him. Loki got up without aid, but nearly crumpled to the floor as he put weight on his left leg. With a slight snarl he pulled himself back upright and walked through the portal. Just as it closed, he turned around and gave Strange a small nod – an acceptance of his offer, perhaps. Perhaps not – but either way, Strange had the feeling he'd be seeing Loki again. He gave a small, cheeky grin and a wave at a rather angry-looking Fury who was looking directly at him over Loki's shoulder, then the portal vanished completely in a small puff of sparks. "How did it go?" asked a voice from behind him, and he turned, startled, to see Wong stepping out from behind a bookcase that he had most likely been hiding behind the whole time.

"Director," Loki managed to greet Fury, before the world started turning around and round and he felt Fury's steadying hand on his shoulder. Briefly, he leaned into it, glad for Fury's presence, before returning to the struggle of staying upright. The dizziness receded for a while, and Loki could make out Stark, moving a hand to his face and blearily rubbing a hand across his eyes, yawning, before furrowing his brow then abruptly sitting up and looking Loki up and down. "Wha's going on?" he mumbled, running a hand through his hair and blinking rapidly. After a while he appeared to have cleared his mind of sleep and looked at Loki again, more properly. "Loki? You ok?" he asked, concern evident. Loki felt a sudden rush of feelings – Stark cared, he genuinely _cared,_ for Loki. As did his mother, he suddenly thought, remembering the butterfly-light kiss on his forehead. Frozen in the sudden revelation, it was a few moments before he could move – when he could he smiled at Tony, a real smile, and moved towards him.

Stark stood up as he drew near and wordlessly embraced him. Loki tucked his chin into Stark's shoulder and whispered a heartfelt, "thank you," to him, voice rapt with true gratitude. Thank you for standing by me. Thank you for fighting for me. Thank you for _caring_ , just when I thought nobody did. He didn't notice his was crying until he felt Stark shaking slightly along with him. They parted and Fury immediately sat Loki down, telling him sternly, "Sleep." He turned to Stark and his expression softened. "You too, Stark." Stark sat down on the other end of the sofa and leaned his head back. Loki watched him until his eyes closed and he couldn't hold back a deep sleep anymore.

Fury stayed with them for longer, and when Banner and Rogers passed through the common room, they found him watching Stark and Loki – both of which had slumped to the side in their sleep, Stark's head resting on Loki's shoulder and Loki's head brushing the top of Stark's.


	7. Seventh Chapter The

**Sorry there haven't been updates in a while, I've been on holiday... Which has given me plenty of time to think about this, mwahaha!**

 **Um, so... Most likely I'm never going to get around correcting grammatical errors. I might. Try. I mean, time solves everything. So, eventually I might get around to it. Maybe :3**

When Tony finally awoke, it was to the scent of fresh coffee – delicious – and to Loki poking him repeatedly in the shoulder, a half-smile on his vaguely amused face. Tony swatted him away, grumbling, though he couldn't stop a smile from breaking out on his face as he noticed Loki's good humour. He blinked as he remembered what happened yesterday. And scowled at the memories as he gulped down the strong, hot coffee that Loki had set before him. The god was now sat across from him, watching him. Tony set down the cup and asked him, "You all right, Loki?" Loki nodded and brushed a hand through his hair, the action almost weary. The god's face tightened somewhat as he withdrew his hand and gazed at the manacle-marked wrists, but his eyes were clear and he looked, for the first time in perhaps even years, hopeful.

Tony rose and embraced Loki soundly, whispering into his ear, "I'm glad," as the god slowly relaxed into him and leaned his head into Tony's shoulder. After some time, they withdrew, and Tony gave him a fond smile, before frowning at him. "When did you change your clothes?" he asked, noting Loki's clean tank-top. The cloak wasn't around his shoulders, though it was next to him on the shoulders. Tony cocked his head, understanding what it meant for Loki to bare his injury to the world. To show pride at what he had survived, rather than shame. A big step – Tony assumed Loki had been thinking about everything for a while. He seemed… More sure of himself, somehow. More alive, almost.

"I had my wounds dressed and asked JARVIS where I might find clean clothes once I awoke – perhaps a few hours ago. Rogers made me aware that you could only be awoken with coffee," the god replied to him, nodding to the mug in his hands. Tony nodded in agreement and raised the mug, bowing his head to it as if in worship. Loki laughed, a genuine sound, and Tony could have sworn he'd never heard anything better than that. He was about to offer some to Loki when Steve walked in, heading, presumably, to the gym. Loki waved at him in greeting, and Steve gave him a hearty, "Morning!" in return, before heading right to the kettle. Apparently discovering it was still hot, he didn't bother boiling it as he made himself a mug. Loki was watching him, then asked Tony, "Do you have here a training room? I wish to see how far my loss of magic has affected my body." Tony blinked at Loki's question, then quickly downed the rest of his coffee – hot – and motioned at Steve. "Steve, you heading to the gym?" Steve turned. "Hm? Oh, yes. Why?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Take Loki along with you, I'll be down in… A while, I need to change," Tony replied, nose wrinkling as he thought about how long it had been since he'd had a nice shower and clean clothes. Not long, really, but he'd never take them for granted again, that was for sure. Steve bobbed his head in a nod, then picked up his mug and motioned to Loki to follow him, not seeming fazed at all.

Tony yawned when they left, tilting the empty mug in his hands and staring at it for a few seconds, still sleepy, before walking over to the sink and dumping it there. He headed to his rooms, rather surprised when he met nobody on the corridors. Fury was pretty much omnipresent these days, so not running into him was… Probably a relief, as Tony was in a hurry for a hot shower and a set of nice, clean clothes. He was in the shower with remarkable speed, letting the hot water run over him as he absent-mindedly drew smiley faces on the fogged-up glass surrounding the shower. Idly, his thoughts turned to Loki. His face after he'd came from Asgard – even though he had been asleep – hadn't been… It had been awful, and Tony had been terrified for Loki's sake. He dimly remembered seeing Loki and Fury at some point in the night, and he remembered falling asleep next to Loki, and though he had no clue what had happened, Loki had seemed relieved and happy to see him. Tony had no clue what had happened to give Loki back that hope – perhaps he'd realised that not every damn person wanted him dead or suffering. Because Tony found that he really, truly cared about the broken god that had nearly killed himself – worse – just so Stark wouldn't suffer. But that flicker of hope in Loki's eyes – that was reassurance enough for Stark that finally, Loki was healing his mind.

He was reluctant to switch of the shower, but he decided he wanted to pay Loki a visit in the gym and see if the loss of magic had actually affected his strength – though he was weak, still, from his ordeal with Oriax and lack of food. He'd been drinking enough here, Tony had made sure of that, but he'd barely eaten anything. So he changed into a nice, clean shirt and pants and headed down to the gym, where he found Loki and Steve exchanging small talk while bench pressing together. Steve was lifting around a hundred and seventy pounds, Tony noted with admiration. Loki, in all his underweight glory, was lifting the same with fair ease. Tony raised an eyebrow as he sat down near them and stretched out his legs. "Looks like you're still pretty damn strong, then," he said, nodding to the weights. Loki smiled tersely, then set them down with a slight thump. "Not as strong as before, not nearly. But yes, it appears that I am still stronger than the average man, and I have been training for centuries longer, too." Loki stood up fluidly, examining his hand. His brow was creased, as if he were about to say more. Tony looked at him, silently encouraging him to say whatever it was that was plaguing him. Eventually, Loki sighed and looked up briefly. "I also believe I lost my immortality alongside my magic."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Steve and his own weights thumped down and he swung himself into a sitting position, staring at Loki with a slightly open mouth. Tony's reaction was much the same, albeit with a surprised blink rather than a gasp. Loki shrugged slightly. "It does not matter to me as much as I thought it might… After my magic vanished, I began to feel cold and… Weaker. I suspect the Jotun side of me, being a creature of magic, has disappeared. It is possible, if unlikely, that my mother is an Asgardian, and that is why I am alive. It is magic that grants us our immortality, however." Steve gaped further, then asked carefully, "How… how long did it take off your… Lifespan?" Loki shrugged yet again, continuing in his examination of his hand. "A few centuries, perhaps. Again, it does not matter to me too much. It was jarring when I realised, but it has always seemed more a blessing to me. At first, because it shortened my suffering. Now… I will be able to live alongside you, rather than watch you age and die. Should I have a choice, I… I don't think I would want my immortality back." Loki was a mortal. The thought struck Stark deep, and he realised just how much the loss of magic must have affected Loki. Yet the god had found the good in it, and that he would rather age with them, with Tony, than live on without them… It was something Tony might not have understood, had he not spent those week with Loki, missing his friends and family, wishing he could just see them for a few more moments. Mortality made every second count, Tony had realised. Loki probably liked that, having each minute mean something. Tony understood, now, why Loki had wished to test just how far the magic loss had affected him. Deeply, was the answer, but he still had a stronger body than most mortals, even in his weakened state, and had been trained in many fighting techniques.

Tony didn't offer any condolences, as Steve seemed half-inclined to, because there was some sort of lightness in Loki's eyes that showed he was rather relieved to have lost both his Jotun form and his immortality. Steve seemed at and absolute loss at what to say, mixed emotions flashing across his face. Tony couldn't hold in a snort at his confusion, and Loki followed his gaze, before letting out a smile and a small snicker as he noted Steve's poor countenance. Steve joined in with their laughter, realising how hopeless he looked. He motioned over to the punching bags – an invitation that Loki accepted, but Tony blew out an incredulous breath, puffing his cheeks out, and settled down on a bench to watch. Loki didn't look like he'd used a punching bag before, and watched Steve for a while, before mimicking his posture and trying a few punches, then relaxing into the stance and hitting the bag remarkably hard and fast. "Oldies are goodies – another few centuries and you might even outstrip Loki," Tony grinned at Steve. "You crones get better with age," he continued, a wicked light in his eyes. Steve feigned punching Tony from across the room, so Tony mimicked clutching his chest in a shocked and hurt and extremely overly dramatic gesture. Loki's low laugh, still hoarse, swept through the gym. Gods, even with a bad throat the god sounded divine. Fury, choosing that moment to insert his omnipresentiness into the gym, raised a quizzical eyebrow at the rather strange sight. "Careful, Loki," Tony warned, "your pretty voice has attracted some sort of strange creature of the depths," he carried on, smirking at Fury. Loki's laugh burst out again as he noticed an extremely unimpressed Fury standing by the door, though he appeared to be holding in a smile. "Behold," exclaimed Loki, sharp eyes looking over Fury, "was that a twitch of the lips? Surely this beast has not a sense of humour?" Steve wheezed, bending over as he failed to hide his grin. Fury rolled his eyes, gracing them with a slightly begrudging smile. Tony whooped and clapped.

"How are you?" he asked them, voice as serious as always, though Tony couldn't help noticing the relief and humour in his eyes as he looked over Loki. "Good," he muttered, Steve nodding in agreement. Fury turned to Loki, eyebrows raised. "I am well, my thanks, Director." Fury nodded, grunting in approval. Steve leaned over and whispered something to Loki, who frowned but nodded. "Director, I would like to discuss with you, if I may." Fury narrowed his eyes, then nodded, and motioned to Loki to follow him. He went, lifting a hand in a quick wave to Tony and Steve as he left. As soon as he was gone, Tony turned to Steve and opened his mouth quizzically. "I told him," Steve said before Tony could ask him anything, "just to trust Fury, and tell him. Everything." Oh. Tony closed his mouth. Steve motioned towards the punching bags in a silent invitation, but Tony shook his head in mock horror, deciding it was time for some breakfast. He was hungry, damn. So, he waved good-bye to Steve, telling him, "Breakfast awaits." Steve nodded. "I might join you later," he replied, before turning back to the punching bags as Tony quietly opened the door and left.

He decided on waffles for breakfast, popping two into the toaster and waiting idly. He set the kettle off, to make another cup of coffee, and pulled down a mug from the shelf. Thinking that Loki wouldn't take too long with Fury, he pulled down another mug and decided he may as well acquaint Loki with his dear friend, Coffee. He could smell the waffles. Delicious. He waited a little longer until the toaster finally finished, and quickly pulled them out, jiggling around a little as the heat burned his fingers. "Ow, ow, owww…" he muttered, hopping from one foot to the other, and sucking his fingertips before the water finished boiling and he poured it into the waiting mugs. On his waffles… He thought for a while, before pulling out some chocolate sauce. Why not? He drizzled it generously over the waffles and set them on the table, swinging himself onto a seat and immediately attacked the waffles, ignoring the heat in favour of the feeling of food in his mouth. The chocolate sauce was delicious – he'd have to get JARVIS to order more of the same type. The waffles, too. Heavenly.

He was just about to start on the second one when Loki poked his head through the door, eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of the waffles. He slipped in and sat next to Tony, who gazed at him innocently. "Weren't you ever taught to _share_ , Stark?" Loki asked, sidling closer to him with a slight mischievous smirk on his face. Tony grumbled incoherently, but tore a small portion off his waffle and dipped it in chocolate sauce. Loki watched with bright eyes, and held out a hand to Tony. Who bypassed Loki's hand entirely and just dumped the chocolatey mess on Loki's nose, who immediately brought a hand to his face and peeled of the waffle, scrunching up his face slightly. Tony snorted. Loki paused with the waffle poised to be eaten, before narrowing his eyes and lunging at Tony with it. Tony tried to protect himself, but Loki dodged his raised arm and got a nice streak of chocolate down Tony's face – before innocently shoving the waffle into his mouth. Tony tried to dead-eye Loki but didn't manage to hold Loki's gaze for more than a few seconds before smiling. Instead, he dipped his finger into the chocolate on his plate and held it up between them as he might a weapon. Loki kept eye contact, until Tony suddenly realised his hand had slipped past Tony's guard and was stealing half the waffle from under Tony's very nose. He let out a yelp and made a grab for the waffle, but Loki was too quick. Tony gave him a half-hearted whack on the shoulder before turning to his remaining half-waffle and eating it as quickly as he could manage. Just as they finished, the doors to the elevator slid open.

Mixed feelings swung through him as Pepper Potts stepped out, but Loki, ever the gentleman, was immediately standing up and walked towards her, extending a hand in greeting, managing to look graceful despite the chocolate tipping his nose and covering the hand he was holding behind his back. Pepper took one look at his wrist and, limply shaking it, stared at Tony. "Tony… We… We need to talk."


	8. Chapter The Eighth

**Upwards of three thousand words :/ And if it weren't so late I swear I could carry on, but I'm stopping where I am before it gets too long xD Enjoy!**

Loki didn't look like he enjoyed having his hand shaken much because he was going rather pale, and quite quickly withdrew his hand – though he managed to keep remarkably composed, and there wasn't much to suggest mental turmoil. Nothing Pepper would be able to see, anyway. She looked very faintly affronted at the sudden action, but most of her attention was focused on Tony. He leaned on the table, trying to act natural rather than rushing over to Loki, and surreptitiously hiding the chocolate stains with a hand. "Hmm?" ha asked, staring at her. Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Loki, and Stark frowned, about to shake his head. Loki noticed what was going on. "I'll be in my rooms, Stark," he said graciously, and made his way out. Tony had to resist the urge to call him back when he saw Pepper's rather angry and almost hurt face. She watched in silence until the door clicked closed behind Loki, and then she rounded on Stark.

"Tony…" she began, in that despairing tone she always used with him. He crossed his arms and waited. "What happened?" she probed. Tony could remember all too well what happened, and he didn't want to talk about it. He just shrugged. Pepper's lips tightened, before she finally seemed to brush aside that façade of concern. "You've been back for over two weeks," she stated flatly, "and nobody told me. Not even you." Tony had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. In the rush of recovery and worry about Loki, Pepper had completely slipped his mind. Sure, he'd thought about her for the first few days over there, but… Oriax and her tortures had changed him, changed his perception. "No…" he muttered, to break the slightly awkward silence. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried I've been the past few months? Only to find out that you were here for TWO WEEKS and didn't think of telling me? Do you even care what I think any more?" she carried on, looking more angry than upset. Tony was starting to feel angry, too. Pepper had no idea what had happened, no idea at all, and now instead of greeting him she was coming right into the tower and immediately yelling at him for something he'd had very, very little control over. He decided to say as much. "You have no idea what I've been through," he hissed at her, not realising he was gripping his wrist, the one Oriax had broken. Pepper noticed, and her eyes narrowed at him. "You really think so?" she asked slowly, dangerously, one hand rising up to point at his own. "You really think I'm stupid enough not to realise what mess you got yourself into this time? And you even managed to drag back the person who attacked New York a year ago. Typical. You have no sense of safety, Tony," and she would have gone on had Tony not abruptly stood up, chair clattering to the floor. "So, it was my fault. My fault for everything that happened. And it was a mistake to bring Loki back." None of it was a question. His eyes were bright and angry, because Pepper had just crossed a line. And it seemed she was ready to cross it further, because with venom he hadn't known she possessed, she hissed, "Yes, it was."

It was like a physical blow to him, severing something deep inside. Even if Pepper didn't know what had happened, even if she had no idea what had been done to him. To Loki. "You can't keep doing this to me, Tony…" she said a heartbeat later, tears filling her eyes, but nothing she could say now would undo the damage. No pretence of caring could heal the rift he now felt between them. He wasn't the same Tony Stark, he realised, and that meant Pepper was no longer _his_ Pepper, but Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark industries and his assistant. The cold, hard look in his eyes said as much. Pepper saw, he could tell she saw it, because her brow creased and she looked up at him, features softening. "I'm sorry, Tony. It's… It's over now, isn't it?" It was. He nodded mutely then glanced at the door in dismissal. Pepper bowed her head and took a deep breath, before hastily wiping her face then turning and leaving. Tony picked up his chair and sat down on it, putting his face in his hands and exhaling heavily. He'd felt it coming as soon as he'd seen Peppers face, as soon as he'd remembered her existence, but it was still… Jarring. A shock. He looked at the clock. It was only one o'clock – he had a full day to waste however he wished, but he didn't particularly feel like doing anything. He should probably check on Loki – give him the coffee which was probably cold by now. Maybe they'd watch a film. He might like that. For all the thoughts of what he could do, Tony couldn't seem to make himself get up. He was… In shock, he supposed. Not only that he had broken up with Pepper, but that she could have been so… So unaccepting of what had happened, so uncaring and unwilling to listen. But perhaps what shocked him most was that he looked inside and didn't feel a genuine sorrow. Perhaps a regret for what he had lost, for who he had been, but there was also… Relief. The ability to stop pretending who he wasn't by hanging onto the shreds of his former life – the bridge he and Pepper had just burned.

So, he simply sat for a while, until JARVIS suddenly spoke in an urgent tone. "Sir, Mr. Odinson is not well. Miss Romanoff is asking for you. She appears to be in distress. I suggest you hurry, sir…" Tony was already moving, leaping into the elevator. Faster than the stairs. "Full speed, JARVs," he commanded, and the elevator immediately sped up. It was only two or three floors, but Tony's heart was racing as he wondered what the matter was. He spotted Nat first, outside Loki's rooms, eyes wide. "Tony! It's -" she waved a hand in the direction of Loki's rooms, and alarm spiked through him. "He won't let me near him," she admitted, looking genuinely concerned and frightened for Loki's sake. "I heard him…" She trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable as she motioned for Tony to hurry into the room and then through to the bathroom. Loki was indeed there, and he didn't look good. At all. Tony cursed and half-ran over to him, kneeling down to his level.

Loki hadn't expected the touch of an almost-stranger to affect him so deeply. His mind was weak, his body growing stronger without the pain, but he was hungry and weary, tired from the quite vigorous exercise he'd managed to gather the strength for this morning. So, as he felt the female hand within his own, it took everything he had to shove down the feelings and hide them to the barest minimum. He'd been all too glad to leave – perhaps it was selfish of him to leave Tony when he knew it would be hard for him to meet the woman he had – and possibly still – loved, on such… Unpleasant terms. But he couldn't help himself, he needed reprieve from the rooms which suddenly seemed so small, pressing in on him, from the people and the feminine hand in his own… Even the sound of her voice, even though it was nothing like Oriax's rich, slippery-smooth tones. As she began to speak, the woman in front of him melded into her, black hair, wicked sneer, green eyes, obsidian lips and cruel, cold hands. His stomach cramped and the world briefly span. It had been a long time since he'd managed to keep any food down, and it looked like his body was finally beginning to give up. He forced himself still, mentally pushing the pain away. The vision of Oriax cleared as he concentrated, but he wouldn't be able to hold them back for long, not the memories, and he had to get out of here now. It took all of his will not to run when he did finally leave, or on the way to his rooms, but once inside he could do nothing more than to stagger to the bathroom and collapse, resting his head on the cool lid of the toilet.

Three breaths, in and out, then he lifted the lid and retched, vomiting out the half-waffle he'd stolen from Stark earlier. When he was done, he flushed the toilet, then braced himself on the now-closed lid and pulled himself up to wash his face. The tap was on too fast. He cleaned himself in it anyway, then pulled it until it slowed to a trickle, then a drip. He didn't have the energy to turn it fully off, just letting himself slide back down and resting his head on the toilet seat again. It was cool against the hot of his head. Oriax. She was there, standing in front of him, nails long and black but coated in some sort of green varnish, something he'd noticed immediately because she never wore varnish. Not varnish. Oriax smiled her cold smile and the venom from her nails was on his chest, the fire was in his blood… He couldn't help crying out, nails digging into his chest where Oriax had dug her in. Three drops of blood welled. Clean pain. No fire, no fire. No Oriax, he had to remind himself. No Oriax. Just cool, clear pain. He dragged himself up. The pain was already leaving him. Fire flickered in his blood, a memory of it, as he stood. His nails dug further into his chest, but the pain faded too soon and there was nothing to hold off the fire, the liquid agony.

He swung his knee into the ceramic-tiled wall, once, twice, three times and he couldn't hold off the cry that sprang to his lips as his already-mangled left knee shattered further, blood blooming. Pain bloomed alongside it, a sweet, short-lasting rose, more addictive and harmful than any drug. Hold her off, hold her off. The pain would be on his terms, not hers. No fire in his blood, please no, anything but that… His vision flickered as someone walked in. Oriax, it was… No, it wasn't. The Black Widow, he remembered her vaguely. They hadn't really spoken. Red hair, he noted, not black. She took in the knee, the blood down his chest and her eyes snapped to his. Dark green, near black eyes. No. Not her eyes. Black Widow's eyes. Natasha… Natasha Romanoff's eyes. But still, as she neared him, he glared at her and snarled, an animal's warning to stay away. The women flickered from Natasha to Oriax, to Natasha, back to Oriax and soon he was too mind-wearied to try telling the difference. He stepped towards her, teeth bared. She stepped back – good, let her go. Let her leave him in peace. A hand was on her gun, he noticed. He took a quick step towards her, forcing his face into killing-cold. The gun was immediately pointed at him. Her, Oriax, her, Natasha. The gun. An end Oriax had made him beg for, literally beg for. He laughed, a broken sound, the sound of a shattered mind. "Go on," he whispered, taking slower steps, pushing himself up to the gun until it's cold mouth was resting against his chest.

"You know what I've done," he whispered again, something flaring in his eyes. Anything to not have to see Oriax again, not feel the fire in his veins. Even if he had to lie for that sweet, cold death. "What if I… Told… You… I'd do it… Do it… Again…" All that existed was Oriax and the metal slab, the scent of coal and hot iron rods, the cold air rushing over the whip-marks in his back… "Would you… Kill me then?" He tried to find Natasha in the black eyes staring at his but his mind forced him to see only Oriax as the gun was quickly withdrawn – nonono, put it back – and she reached towards him… Except all he could see was Oriax, and a dull roaring filled his ears so he stumbled back, slipping and falling, backing into a corner, hissing as the pain and the hand in front of him, letting out a small cry and using a hand to push Oriax's away… He pressed a hand to his neck, pushing the back of it against his tender throat, and dug his nails into the wounds on his chest again, tearing them back open, still panting, letting the pain distract him from the sounds of someone yelling at him, then retreating and yelling and someone or something else. The coppery warmth on his fingers. Drag his fingers down, down, tear apart skin and muscles and drown in the clear pain that wasn't Oriax… Oriax…

He flinched violently and cried out as strong arms wound around him, until he realised it was Tony. Why was he here, Loki dimly wondered. Shouldn't Tony be in their cell? He heard his voice, as if from a distance, and did his best to listen. "In Stark Tower. She's not here. You're safe. You're in Stark Tower. She's not here. You're safe…" And repeated over and over, the same words, before they finally sank in and he remembered where he was, who he was. He let out a gasping sob and pulled his hand from his chest, wrapping his arms around Tony, holding him close as if needing to reassure himself he was real. He was. Stark Tower. No Oriax. Tony helped him up, even though the world was spinning, and his knee was buckling. Natasha was through in his bedroom, watching with wide, worried eyes as Stark helped him out. Loki hung his head as he passed, both weary and ashamed that he had shown his weakness in such a way. He listened to Stark's murmur. "Get you through to my rooms and I'll clean you up, you're covered in blood…" He made an effort to limp by himself as best as he could. It was only a short distance, and nobody was there to see him except Natasha, who was trailing behind them a good distance away. He noticed her leaving as they turned into the door of Stark's rooms and relaxed slightly as she disappeared. Tony sat him down on the sofa and vanished for a moment or an hour, Loki couldn't tell any more. He returned with a blessedly cool cloth that he wiped Loki's chest with, then swore slightly and tugged off Loki's shirt, stained with blood. Loki didn't have the strength any more to resist as Stark cleaned him of the blood and gently pressed down on the nail-marks for a while, until he lifted the cloth and found the blood had stopped flowing.

Stark sat next to Loki, leaning back into the corner of the sofa, and sighed. Loki would recover eventually, he was sure of it. It would just take time… And Loki didn't seem inclined to be patient in this aspect. He'd learn. They'd all have to learn. Stark didn't want to think about the panic that had jolted through him at the sight of Loki's blood, at the memories that had swam through his mind. He'd have nightmares tonight, of that he was sure. Perhaps he'd just go down into the workshop and distract himself for hours, maybe even days, until he couldn't hold off sleep any more. He came back to his thoughts as Loki slid against him, resting on his shoulder. His eyes were open. One of his hands slid out and grasped Tony's wrist. He let Loki turn it this way and that, until he withdrew it after noting the look on Loki's face. Guilt. Horrible, awful guilt. "I'm sorry…" whispered Loki, turning his face up to meet Tony's eyes, and Tony shook his head stubbornly. "No," he commanded. "No. Don't do that to yourself, Loki. Without you I'd have suffered… So much more." Loki didn't look convinced. "Without me, you would never have known of Oriax. I should have fought harder…" his voice trailed off, shaking slightly. Tony lifted Loki's chin up, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You did what you could and more. Don't do that to yourself," he repeated, gazing at Loki.

It jolted him to learn just how much he wanted to kiss the god of mischief right now, to let him know just how deeply Tony cared for him. It jolted Tony to realise just how deeply he cared for the broken man. But he didn't want to cause more damage, he didn't know half of what had been done to Loki. He suspected, from what he had overheard from one of Oriax's visitors. So he refrained from doing so and just looked at Loki until he nodded, and quite suddenly relaxed. After a while, Loki slipped from his shoulder and ended up lying across his chest, his head on the arm of the sofa. Just as Tony thought the god was asleep, Loki whispered, "JARVIS… Tell Tony about the pear…" and then his breathing slowed. "Sir?" asked JARVIS, then said, presumably to Stark, "He's sleeping." Tony frowned. "What did he mean?" JARVIS was quiet for a moment. "I'm… I'm not sure, Sir. Give me a few minutes to…"

"Check Wikipedia?" Stark grinned. "There's a little lag in my main servers," JARVIS replied, disdain evident in his tone. Stark snorted slightly, careful not to wake Loki. Then he carefully slipped away and lowered Loki gently onto the sofa, deciding he needed another cup of coffee. He wandered down to the common room and set the kettle boiling. Just as he finished pouring the cup, Steve walked in, and JARVIS announced, "Sir. I believe I know what Mr. Odinson was referring to," with no small amount of worry in his tone. Tony swallowed, the carried his coffee to the table and motioned for Steve to sit down, which he did, brow furrowed. "Go on, JARVIS," he finally said, looking up at one of the AI's cameras.


	9. Ninth the Chapter

**Sorry for taking longer than anticipated - I was busy xD**

"I believe he was referring to a particular instrument known as the pear of anguish," JARVIS announced after a slight pause. Tony frowned. He didn't think he'd heard of it before. Steve looked similarly confused, and Tony looked back at the hidden camera. JARVIS continued talking. "It's use is unclear, but the general consensus is that it was used as a medieval torture instrument. It is… May I pull up an image, sir?" Tony waved his consent, and over the table an image of a strange, pear shaped object appeared. It seemed to be made of metal leaves, almost, a screw connecting them at the top. "It was," JARVIS carried on, "In theory, inserted into one of the victim's… Openings, and the screw would then be turned, opening out the leaves. If I might ask, do you remember any point at which this may have been used on Mister Odinson?" Tony cursed, slamming down his coffee mug down on the table, the coffee spilling over and burning his hand, as he grasped what JARVIS was saying. Loki's hoarse voice and sore throat… And indeed, he did remember when it could have been used on Loki. Steve, eyes wide and horrified, looked at him in question.

Tony was almost unable to explain himself, then cursed even louder and rubbed his face. "I should have realised," he muttered into his hands. "I should have realised that… That… She-devil would have hurt him on the inside as well as the outside. What a bi-" he stopped himself before Steve could, then sighed and looked wearily at him. "Loki barely ever ate, even when I first… Arrived. He'd always make me eat his food, too." Steve nodded his encouragement, his face almost understanding. "Until… I told him I wouldn't eat unless he ate at least half of his own. He didn't believe me at first, but… I held to my word and for a few days, maybe even a week, he was eating more… Then, then…" Steve, wide-eyed, nodded yet again as Tony had to pause for a few slightly shaking breaths. "Oriax took him for nearly the entire day, I think it was… Loki used to count the seconds and minutes and hours, so he'd know how much time had passed… When she threw him back into the cell, he was… Not good, even for Oriax. His throat had swelled, and he couldn't even speak until Oriax healed him a little. I… Was more focused on his other injuries at the time, I didn't think she had hurt him internally, I thought his throat was just raw from… And he didn't eat since them, oh _gods,_ I don't even think he has eaten since then, he keeps being sick after eating, _****,_ I should have… I should have…" He was shaking, vision blurring with tears he was ashamed to shed in front of the man his father had practically worshipped. He should have known Oriax wouldn't stop at hurting Loki's flesh, oh ****.

Steve ignored his swearing – for once – and patted his back gently, if slightly awkwardly. His own face was rapt with horror. Steve hadn't seen Loki's injuries, but Tony had the feeling he knew what had happened with Oriax. "Nat told me he'd had a breakdown of sorts…" he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. Tony nodded, then heaved in a breath as the tears finally spilled over and he put his head down on the table, on top of his folded arms, and tried to still his shaking shoulders. Steve, not fooled at all, rubbed his shoulder comfortingly and just stayed silent – either at a loss for words or knowing Tony would appreciate the silence, or a little of both. After a while, perhaps sensing Tony wanted to be alone with his thoughts, he got up. The chair squeaked loudly as it dragged across the floor and from the corner of his eye Tony could see Steve wince, but he didn't stir. As Steve opened the door, he turned back round, mouth slightly open. "It… None of it was your fault, Tony. None of it," he finally said, unknowingly echoing Tony's earlier words to Loki. The words didn't stop the thoughts spinning inside his head, and had Steve not left at the moment, the agonised expression on Tony's face would have been enough to make him doubt his own words. Tony had known, he'd _known_ that Loki was still ill, and he'd dismissed it to recovery and assumed Loki just needed time. He was a fool for it – thinking back, it had been painfully clear Loki still had problems with his throat – and with his knee, too. And the stupid god hadn't said anything about it, not one word, even though it must have been agony. _Not compared to what he's faced,_ a voice in his mind whispered. _This pain must have felt so small to him, he didn't think it worth complaining about. And so, he went about his daily business, hoping it would heal, not wanting to bother you, even though sometimes he could barely speak because of it…_

Tony gave a small, strangled sob, agreeing with that stupid voice in his head. Loki had been hurt so much more than he'd thought, he realised. Most likely before he'd even arrived. He got up, wiping his face, and decided to go to the workshop, where he'd have some privacy, at least. He kept his mind clear, empty, not wanting to accidentally bump into anyone on the way and let them see him crying. Mr. Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, didn't cry. But Tony, just Tony… He did cry, because Oriax had broken something inside of him but built something new. The pain had stripped away all pretences of who he was and who he might have been. But to everyone else he was still Stark, so he kept his mask even as he walked from the elevator to the stairs, and down to his private workshop, where he'd managed to keep intact (somehow) a small, shabby sofa and an even smaller table. He slumped in the sofa. "JARVIS, don't let anyone in," he commanded quietly, firmly. "Yes, sir," the AI answered, and he heard the locks click. Peace. Scowling, he tugged the small table towards it and pulled out a bottle from underneath it. He wanted his thoughts foggy, so foggy he didn't even know his own name – or Loki's. He didn't open the bottle, though. Something about drinking alcohol made his thoughts curl, almost as if he was a youngster trying his second bottle, hating the taste but loving the feeling. He stared at the bottle for a while but looking at it didn't make him feel any better, so with a snarl he shoved it back under the table. He was desperate to keep his thoughts clear of Loki and what had been done to him, what might have been done to him, and the suffering he could have stopped… Sh*t. He was thinking about it again. And booze wouldn't help.

He moved to a medicine cabinet Pepper always kept fully stocked and looked through it, pushing aside bottles and plasters and bandages until he found a vaguely familiar box of pills at the very back of the cabinet. They'd been there for a while, now. He scanned the packet – Benzodia… Something or the other. He just remembered how they had made him feel after taking them – the reason he'd stopped, really. Drowsy, confused… The dosage was just one tablet. And it was strong. Scowling, he shook two into his palm and snatched a glass of water. "Sir, I don't think," JARVIS began, but Tony snarled at him, "Shut up, JARVIS!" before gulping the tablets down and flinging himself onto the sofa, closing his eyes and rubbing them. He should have talked to Loki, should have made sure he knew what was wrong with him. It wasn't even the knowledge of the torture that shook him, it was the fact that there was no telling what Oriax had done to him, and Tony hadn't even taken the time to let Loki talk about it, and he had no flipping idea what had gone on before he'd even stumbled on Loki. Hell, he barely knew what had happened after he found Loki. He forced his thoughts away from that subject. _Talk to him,_ a strangely clear voice whispered as his own thoughts started to fragment. _You can still talk to him…_ But a strange smile quirked across his face as he found the voice quite amusing, not quite understanding what was going on anymore. He laughed to himself quietly, strangely giddy, but he was finding it hard to move. He could barely feel his limbs. In fact, it felt as though he were floating in a little bubble made of his own mind, no flesh attached… Hah. And as he wandered off into a confused haze of disjointed thoughts and strange, flashing images he could never remember afterwards, thoughts of Loki entirely slipped through his grip and he relaxed into the sofa.

Fury found him like that, barely a few hours later, after he'd received Romanoff and Rogers' reports - and spent the next damn hour pacing and cursing, and the better part of another trying to find Stark, who had completely disappeared. JARVIS was of no help, which was apparently Stark's doing, but the AI had eventually relented and too-casually mentioned the workshop. So, he'd strode down and looked, and found the doors very much locked. The doors had been glass before – damn Stark for replacing them. "JARVIS. Is Stark all right?" he asked, brow a little furrowed. The silence of the AI was enough for it and he banged on the door, then waited. And waited. "Damn you, JARVIS, open the door!" he finally burst out. The doors remained closed and he glared at the ceiling. "Director, I'm under strict orders to not let anyone in," the AI confessed, though he sounded… Worried. Fury thought for a moment. "Well, I'm not anyone. I'm bloody Director Fury, and you can tell that to Stark." The AI was silent, but then he heard the door click. Bingo. He walked in and it took him a few seconds to take in the scene. Stark, lying slumped on the sofa, pale and breathing erratically. His eyes were moving under their lids. He took a step towards him then noticed the open medicine cabinet and the glass of water some way away. Sh*t. He left Stark for the moment and walked briskly to the medicine cabinet. One box was open. He checked the name and cursed. Anti-anxiety tablets – no surprise there. Checking the date, Fury guessed they'd been shoved there long ago, hence the lack of records. Judging by the state of the various items in the cabinet, they'd been shoved right to the back. He pocketed the tablets, resolving to shove them in the bin as soon as possible.

Closing the cabinet, he noticed a key in the lock. He locked it firmly and pocketed the key, too. He'd give it back to Stark once they'd had a talk, or he was… Better. He walked over to him and sat down next to him on the sofa, reclining into it for a few moments. The stupid idiot… Fury couldn't imagine what he must be feeling, but on a certain level he understood it must be hard. Seeing the man who protected you from untold horrors crumbling in front of you… Yeah, that must be hard. And Fury had the feeling there was so much either of them hadn't told them, things that went beyond the obvious. It was clear they'd been tortured – but _how,_ neither had mentioned, and nobody wanted to press, nor had any intention of doing so. Sighing, Fury stood and moved over to the top of the sofa, crouching to look at Stark's face. "Stark," he said sharply, clearly, and gently shook him. No response. "Stark!" he said again, shaking a little harder. His eyes opened into small slits and Fury made out dilated brown eyes, before they slid closed again. He did seem more… Relaxed, this time, his breathing somewhat more even as he slipped back into wherever his mind was. For a moment, Fury considered asking Rogers for a hand in getting Stark to his rooms, then decided against it. He would keep this between them. So instead, he simply shifted Stark so he was lying more comfortably along the shabby sofa, and hunted around until he found an equally shabby blanket under the table – alongside a few bottles he would have to get rid of – and he gently drew it over Stark, muttering swear words under his breath as he did so. The poor fool, he thought to himself, as he left.

 **My search history probably looks really strange, I have looked up the side-effects of the thingy-forgotten-the-name-majigy and stuff so hopefully it's as accurate as possible, please don't kill me if not ;)**


	10. Chapter TYEEEEEN

**I love you all :3 *hugs***

There were no nightmares. At times, he thought he felt a flicker of Oriax's presence, a brush of hot iron on his back, a whisper of the whip slicing across his cheek… but every time, it was as if a warm bubble surrounded him, shielding him from the pain, hiding the memories as they threatened to overwhelm him. Soft and warm, a faint smell of almonds. But no nightmares. Just the comforting bubble of warmth that seemed strangely familiar. He could smell the same scent even as he awoke, needing a few groggy moments to remember where he was. The hot flush of shame hit him a moment later as he remembered completely, what had happened. Argh… He dragged a hand up and rubbed at his eyes, blinking as he stretched out and sat up. The world span briefly as he did so, so he reached out a steadying hand on the arm of the sofa and used it to support himself as he stood. His few stumbling steps were about as weak as his very first steps, but he made it to the edge of the bed and sat down on it heavily. His left knee was throbbing, as was his throat. And there was a bitter taste in his mouth, because he was well aware he was bordering on the very edge of severe malnourishment, but… He just couldn't seem to keep any food down. Drinks, he could, now. There was something amazing about having clean water, he'd found out.

He limped over to the door, then paused quite suddenly and sniffed the air. Almonds. He remembered now – Stark smelled faintly of almonds. The shampoo he used, Loki supposed, but it had been exactly the same smell accompanying the bubble that had kept him from nightmares. He smiled softly, then limped out into the corridor. Fury was there, waiting for him, down at the bottom end. Loki's lips twitched as he noticed that the Director was attempting a smile. It was… Certainly a valiant effort, he supposed. He was glad the Director didn't move to help him, even though he was clearly having difficulties. He would have felt ashamed to rely on him. So he limped painfully over, then took the Director's proffered arm, leaning on it for a few moments before locking his jaw and carrying on with as little aid as possible. Fury led him to the common room and sat him down on a chair. He was slightly confused as to the attention – why was he being led here? Surely, they did not care if he felt a little pain. The confusion must have shown, at least in part, because Doctor Banner rounded the counter – Loki hadn't noticed him, and blinked in surprise as he did see him – and sat down opposite him, smiling a little nervously. "Hey," he said by way of greeting. Loki cocked his head. Banner had seen him yesterday. Or two days ago. He nodded slightly, still curious and vaguely confused. "I've, uh…" Banner continued. "I'm going to be checking you over. As a doctor. I… I didn't think of doing any scans when you first came through, so…" the Doctor looked strangely nervous, fiddling with his fingers and shifting in his chair. He nodded in Loki's direction. "We'll fix the knee as much as we can… And, uh, the throat, too…"

Loki's eyes widened marginally, before he vaguely recalled mentioning the pear. He shuddered slightly at the memory but kept his attention on Banner. He nodded again, then finally opened his mouth and voiced the question that had been plaguing him for a long time… "Why…" he almost gagged at the rush of pain in his throat, but he swallowed it down and carried on with some difficulty, "Why would you help me?" At that, both Banner and Fury looked surprised, as if it was obvious. Loki didn't find it obvious, and narrowed his eyes at Banner and Fury respectively. Fury placed down a clear cylinder full of some sort of liquid he was holding and apparently decided to answer Loki. "Loki, we…" he apparently decided to take a different track after that, because he then said, "Why did you help Stark, a former enemy?" That answer was simple. "Because he didn't deserve the pain. Nobody does…" Except himself, probably. He'd done so much wrong over the years… Fury saw straight into his thoughts. "You don't deserve it either, Loki. None of it. And besides, it wasn't really you at New York, was it?" Clever man, Loki thought, and shook his head mutely, then considered it. He had been, in some way, aware, so technically he had been there at New York, but… "Not fully, no…" They'd torn into his mind, taken him for a visit to Oriax. Oh, she'd been delighted when Thanos had thrown him in front of her that first day of his long stay. She'd taken a liking to him from the very start.

He was still lost in his thoughts when Fury plunked down a glass of the strange liquid he'd been holding earlier. He pushed it towards Loki. "Smoothie," he grunted. "It'll be easier for you to keep down than normal food." Loki narrowed his eyes, then picked up the drink and sniffed it. Fruity. He hadn't eaten fruit for too long, he thought. He took a small sip and found it tasted of strawberries. Definitely his favourite food, he decided at that moment, even though he'd been indifferent to them before Oriax. But the flavour was quite delightful, and he took another few sips. Strawberry… Banana… Milk. If he recovered, he was going to travel all over Midgard tasting food, he promised himself. But… Strawberries. Suddenly they seemed like the most amazing thing to ever exist. He drank almost half the glass, before he felt that if he drank any more, his stomach might rebel again. But it seemed that it was treating the… Smoothie, as a liquid rather than food. No trace of the sickness he usually felt after eating anything. Perhaps he truly would recover eventually. "You done?" Banner asked casually, and he nodded. "Thank you," he whispered, then abruptly decided that speaking was a little too painful and he'd try avoid it where possible. Banner stood and motioned to him quietly. Loki assumed he wanted him to follow, so he stood, wincing as he put weight on his leg then mentally reprimanding himself for doing so. He managed to walk after Banner without any further outward signs of pain – other than his limp, of course, which he'd given up trying to hide because doing so just worsened it.

He lost track of where Banner led him after a while – it wasn't a long way, he was just too… Absorbed in his thoughts, he supposed, to pay necessary attention. Either how, they ended up in a rather medical-looking room with lots of large machines Loki didn't think looked particularly comforting… But he'd seen worse. Banner waved at a low hospital bed, and Loki sat on it, waiting. Banner began by producing… A stethoscope, Loki remembered from his time on Midgard. Used for measuring heart beats. He waited patiently as Banner instructed him to take deep breaths, complying. After some time, he felt a strange sort of lethargy creep up on him, even though he must have slept for at least a few hours earlier. He was tired enough that he might sleep a week though – not that he particularly wanted to. Banners hands were soothing as they turned him this way and that, completely unlike Oriax's firm grip. When she healed him, she usually levitated him in mid-air and used a rather fiendish healing spell which cause immense pain as it healed. Clearly mortals had very different methods. Though, he supposed, he himself was a mortal now. Banner was talking, saying something, but he couldn't be bothered to listen anymore, preferring to concentrate on the feeling of breath rushing in and out of his body, of his heart beating, of every tingle in his fingers and toes. He missed his magic, he mused. He missed the way he could just draw an illusion over himself and become someone completely different. He missed being a snake, too, or a bird. He'd loved being a jackdaw or another corvid, as the fancy took him. He thought carefully about magic for a while, then thought that perhaps, in the weeks to come, he might call on Doctor Strange, the man who had spoken to him in the astral realm and then the physical. Midgardian magic might not be the equal to what had run through his veins before, but it was certainly something.

Bruce watched as Loki slowly became more and more unresponsive, before finally his eyes slid closed and stayed closed, and he began to tilt to the side. As gently as he could, Bruce slipped a hand onto Loki's shoulder and slowly lowered him down, resolving to check his throat while he was asleep. If he was to do a scan, it might be best to sedate him, in case he woke and panicked… Yes. He prepared the needle, quickly, efficiently, and administered the correct dose that would keep him under for a good few hours at the very least. Loki's breathing shifted just slightly, deepening as his thin frame relaxed a little further. He turned at the sound of the door opening and saw Fury with two nurses. He recognised one as the nurse who had been looking after Loki and Tony when they had first arrived, though he couldn't for the life of him remember her name. "Hey," he greeted them instead, reaching out a hand that they both shook in turn, greeting him with smiles and nods. Fury looked on impassively until he finally decided to speak. "Banner, tell the nurses what you need looked at and come with me," he commanded. Bruce nodded and turned to the nurses. "I just sedated him so he wouldn't wake up in the machines, he'll need an internal scan – and I'll need you to look at his throat, left knee, and check for any infections – there might be one in his throat, he has a bit of a raised temperature…" Looking at Fury, he noted the tapping foot and hurriedly finished, "just check him all over, really," and then he nodded to them as he scurried out of the door after Fury. "Director?" he questioned as he struggled to keep up to Fury's long strides without breaking into a loping jog. "Meeting with the others," Fury grunted as he swooped into one of the smaller and cosier meeting rooms they liked to use. Nat, Steve and Clint were already waiting, so Bruce took a seat. Tony was absent, but it looked like Fury wasn't about to wait for him.

Fury paced up and down the width of the room a few times, then turned abruptly to face them all. "Do we trust him?" he asked bluntly. No preamble, no glossing over the words – Bruce liked that. Not that the topic was particularly pleasing, and it was pretty evident what he meant. Do they trust Loki enough to continue offering their aid, to perhaps give him a home in Stark tower. Bruce did have to think about it, had to weigh the possibilities against each other… Natasha, it seemed, had no such thoughts. She immediately nodded and said a simple, "Yes." Fury sniffed noncommittally and looked at her. "You were the most against him staying," he stated, then, "why the change?" Natasha didn't look flustered by the question at all. Something dark was lurking beneath her eyes, Bruce noted. Memories of her own, perhaps, and not pleasant ones. "Because that kind of illness can't be faked," she replied flatly. "I've seen that kind of thing before. It was genuine, and even if he is here to kill us again, there is no doubt that he is being forced to do so." Fury nodded then turned to the person next to Nat, which happened to be Steve. Steve waved a hand at Natasha. "I… Agree with Nat. I've seen similar, too." He seemed to have no more to say, so Fury turned to Bruce, omitting Clint entirely. He tapped his finger nervously on the edge of the table, treasuring the few seconds it bought him to think and sort his thoughts out. "His… Injuries are genuine. I can confirm that. His state of mind is… Clearly not good, either. He… I think he's trustable." Again, the noncommittal nod and finally, Fury turned to Clint and raised an eyebrow. "Barton?" he asked. Clint opened his mouth slightly and seemed to struggle for words for a while. "He's staying," he said eventually, firmly. For once in his life, Fury smiled. "Good. I was hoping we would all agree."

His smile faded after that and he looked them all in the eye again. "There's Stark, too." None of them said anything. Bruce suspected, by the set of Fury's face, that something had happened. He shifted forwards and leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. "I think we've been a little… Lacking, in our support. Not -" he added quickly as Steve and Nat's eyes narrowed, "through any fault, but through ignorance. I think what happened to them is most likely worst than we suspect. And they are both stubborn fools, enough that they'll hide what pains them until it kills them." Bruce ducked his head in acknowledgement. They really were a stubborn pair. Fury carried on. "I wanted to establish that we all believe we ought to look after Loki – which I'm glad we do – and I'd like to warn you to be careful with them. They'll look fine, act fine, but…" Fury trailed off and his eyes darkened. "Is Tony all right?" Bruce finally, hesitantly asked. Fury shot a small glare around the room then shook his head minutely, before carrying on. "Just… Try remember that whatever the hell you think they've gone through, it's probably worse. I'm pretty damn certain they both came close to breaking, and it ain't easy to glue a mind back together." And then he swept out of the room, leaving them to quietly discuss together the incident with Loki earlier, and what might be wrong with Stark. And the rather significant fact that if Fury had called them together just for this… It must be important.


	11. The Eleven

**Behold. Fury is pancake god.**

Tony vaguely remembered stumbling up, swaying, head pounding and feeling sick to his stomach. He remembered deciding he'd rather be in his own bed than on a shabby couch, but he'd barely made it to the door of the workshop before Fury had arrived. He'd felt… A little out of it, he recalled, and hadn't been thinking too clearly, to the point that he didn't even feel surprised or ashamed or… Anything, really. But instead of yelling at him, Fury gripped his upper arm tightly and led him up the stairs, murmuring, "I had the corridors cleared," as he did so. He was relieved, now, that Fury had done that because he must have looked a sight. Instead of leading him to his rooms, Fury instead led him through a few twists and turns that his pounding head couldn't seem to navigate around, and into a small room. He recalled seeing Loki and feeling a surge of guilt and shame – the first thing he had felt for perhaps hours. He'd reacted badly. Really badly, he supposed. Fury had propelled him to the bed next to Loki and literally forced him to sit, then pushed him backwards until he was lying down. "M'fine…" he remembered muttering, even as the room began swirling around him. Fury didn't even bother to reply, drawing the thin cover over him and leaving with a swish of his black cloak. Tony wasn't conscious for long enough to hear the click of the door as it shut behind Fury.

 _Non-negotiable bed rest,_ Fury told him later, when he was fully conscious and aware enough of what had happened that his cheeks had heated a little when he'd seen Fury. Who still didn't berate him for anything that he had done, which was rather unusual for Fury. He'd prescribed 'bed rest' to both him and Loki and refused to let them get up beyond seeing to their needs and occasionally eating. Tony only complained a few times, but secretly he was glad he was being given the chance to rest and not need to worry about… anything, really. Loki had merely nodded when Fury had told him he was to rest, but the relief in his posture had been almost palpable. Tony often had time to himself and his own thoughts, as Loki was being given quite strong medication for his throat – which was healing slowly but surely – and was often asleep. Sometimes, Tony had to resist the urge to creep up to Loki and brush his hair from his eyes as he slept or check his pulse as he had done so often in Oriax's realm. He looked so… Frail. But every day he seemed stronger, and the smoothies were definitely helping. He still couldn't stomach solid foods, but at least he wasn't being starved any more. Tony was going to buy him a crate full of strawberries, he'd decided, when Loki was better. Between the times Loki was asleep, he often walked around the room. His knee had healed somewhat, but he was still limping. The nurse had said the damage was deep enough that he might have a permanent limp – but it would only be slight if he didn't strain it too much. He distinctly remembered the glare she'd gave a standing Loki, that had sent him packing to the bed, until she left. Sometimes they talked. Loki inquired after Pepper, and Tony told him everything that had happened. Then everything afterwards, the pills he'd found… Everything.

And Loki hadn't blamed him for anything, which was more than he could have hoped for. He'd gone quiet for a moment, two, three, then slid out of his bed and crept into Tony's, a hand brushing down his cheek softly before he'd curled up in the top corner of the bed. Where he slept now, Tony curled up beneath him, back warmed by Loki's legs. Loki often slept without a cover, in a foetal position against the wall. It was how he'd slept in their cell, if he had the time to make himself as comfortable as possible before falling unconscious. Tony hoped the habit would one day break – he hated seeing the reminder of their days in the cell and knowing that they had affected Loki deeply enough to make him sleep as if Oriax was standing over him. He listened to the god's steady breathing, and thanked the high heavens that Loki was recovering, and that he was alive… He'd come so close to death, and even worse, so close to breaking. Tony stretched himself out slightly, so his head was level with Loki's chest. Thank goodness he hated narrow beds and had made sure the only beds they had were wide enough to allow someone who tossed and turned in their sleep to sleep comfortably. Loki shifted slightly, a hand reaching down to rest on Tony's shoulder. Tony rolled onto his back as much as he could, leaning against Loki, and felt the rise and fall of his chest, and listened to the steady thrumming of his heart.

Fury was feeling rather like a mother hen, a feeling that made him somewhat surlier than normal, but he couldn't seem to stop himself fussing over Tony and Loki, making sure they were well cared for, and annoying the nurses for reports on their progress. He took it upon himself to make Loki's smoothies every day, doing his best to get Loki strawberry ones at least once a day, though the god seemed to enjoy other flavours, too. None as much as strawberry. To think that he would grow stupidly fond of someone whom he had once hated with a passion, he thought. But that hadn't been Loki, not really. And who he was now was entirely different from who he had been before. And Stark… He seemed humbled, almost. Matured. The same, but… Different. And they both, seemingly without realising it, seemed so… Fragile. Just the set of their faces, the way they flinched almost imperceptibly if someone touched them unexpectedly… Small things that Fury's keen eyes had noted. He entered the room quietly. It was quite early, and they would most likely be sleeping. Which they were, he noted with a slight raise of an eyebrow and a quirk of his lips, on the same bed. Stark was lying against Loki's chest, Loki curled around him almost protectively. Fury set down the smoothie and the plate he'd brought on Loki's empty bed, then studied them silently. He had barely any doubt that they had slept similarly in their time away – it showed in the complete comfort in which they curled up to each other, completely at ease in each other's presence. Loki was frowning at something in his sleep, and the hand on Stark's shoulder twitched slightly. A few seconds later his frown disappeared, and his form relaxed a little more. Fury wondered what had happened that had made Stark trust Loki so completely. Judging by the protectiveness in Loki's posture, Fury could guess. And he felt so grateful to Loki, because without him, Earth would have lost the man who had been prepared to give up his life for her.

He left silently, without waking either of them up, and made his way to the common room where he found Rogers and Romanoff discussing exactly how to make pancakes, with Clint and Bruce sitting at the table, the latter trying not to chuckle and the first calling for a fight. Steve seemed torn between telling Clint to shut up and whacking Romanoff over the head with his frying pan. Fury leaned on the doorframe and watched in mild amusement, until they noticed him. Steve, in the process of raising his frying pan, dropped it on the counter with a small clatter, going slightly red. Fury shrugged. "I'll be the judge," he said gruffly, and moved to sit next to Bruce at the table. Rogers and Romanoff had gone quiet, rushing from cupboard to cupboard in a mad scramble for ingredients, mixing bowls, and the lone spoon. Romanoff got the spoon – a disgruntled and dishevelled Rogers ended up stirring his mixture with a butter knife, and then a fork. "How are they?" murmured Bruce to him after some time. Fury leaned close to him. "You should have seen them this morning," he smiled, possibly smirking a little. Banner raised his eyebrows. "JARVIS?" Fury asked quietly. An image sprung up on the polished surface of the table they were sitting around, in front of Banner. He didn't say anything as he studied it, but he was definitely smiling faintly. The image disappeared and Fury leaned back. Not far enough that he missed Banner muttering to himself, "So cute…"

He watched the rest of the pancake competition in relative silence, occasionally sighing in mock-disapproval at the rather childish behaviour of his avengers. The aroma of pancakes that had crept into the air sent Barton and Banner into throes of ecstatic anticipation. He crossed his arms and waited, refusing to display any emotion as the two candidates looked at him occasionally, as if to see if they were winning his favour with their – often pretty spectacular – pancake flips. Banner and Barton whooped with every successful flip and booed at every unsuccessful one. And they finally, they oohed as first Steve, the Romanoff brought forth their creations. Fury crossed his arms on the table and leaned forwards, running a critical eye over the two plates of pancakes. Steve had gone for a more simplistic, home-made approach, drizzled with chocolate and strawberry sauce with a healthy dollop of cream on the side. Romanoff had made smaller, thicker pancakes that were in small, artistic piles spread around the plate, practically swimming in what he assumed to be maple syrup. On the top of each pile of mini-pancake pile was spread some whipped cream, with tiny piles of blueberries and cut strawberries on top. Fury very much looked forwards to sampling them. Romanoff presented him with a knife and fork, smiling what could only be a winning smile. Her plate was the closest, so he pulled it towards him and cut a careful piece from one of the pancake piles.

He was surprised – and not displeased – to find that there were layers of maple syrup and strawberry jam alternating between the layers of pancakes. He scooped a blueberry and plopped it onto the top of his small triangle of pancakes and ate it, savouring the truly delicious taste. He rewarded Romanoff with an approving nod. She sniffed and smiled at Steve. A double-edged smile, Fury thought to himself. He tugged Steve's plate towards him and looked the pancake pile over, before cutting away a neat triangle and pushing it into the dollop of whipped cream. Fury found a hidden layer of Nutella in the middle of the layers of pancake, that collided beautifully with the sauce and whipped cream. He'd always liked things with a more home-made touch to them – these pancakes were certainly no exception to that, in the best possible way. He swallowed, then said, "I'm afraid, Steve," he watched Romanoff's eyes brighten momentarily, "that you are about to suffer a huge beating at the hands of Romanoff, because your pancakes are quite possibly the best I've ever tasted." There was a brief silence, then Clint began howling in laughter, pointing at Romanoff's crestfallen face. Eventually she joined in with the laughter and sat down, grabbing Steve's pancakes. "I'm trying these. And then you and I, dear Stevey, are going to the gym to… Train." Rogers looked like he didn't know whether to be pleased he'd won or find the nearest rabbit burrow and fling himself into it. He settled for grabbing Natasha's pancakes and taking a pile of them, sliding it onto his plate, before shoving them over to Banner and Barton, who oohed in appreciation and got stuck in.

The pancakes were gone in minutes. Rogers stood, licking his fingers, and made as if to creep away in the direction of his room. Romanoff got up from her chair and fluidly strolled after him, grabbing his arm in a vice grip. Steve cringed, not looking at her. "Gym's this way!" she announced brightly, and frog marched him in that direction. Steve looked briefly, pleadingly back at them. Fury shrugged. Barton waved him goodbye, giggling like a small child with Banner. Even Steve's doe eyes couldn't save him from this, apparently. "I want to see this," Banner murmured, a half smile on his face as he stood. Barton nodded, agreeing, and together the two left after Romanoff and Rogers. Fury shook his head as they disappeared, then narrowed his eyes as he realized they'd just left him to clean everything up. He took one glance at the kitchen counter and all but ran from the room, deciding he'd ask JARVIS, "tell Romanoff that loser's consolation prize is tidying up, JARVIS, will you please?" JARVIS was silent a moment, two, then, "All done, sir." Fury smirked, imagining the beating Rogers was about to receive. He walked through the corridors at a more leisurely pace, stopping once he reached the small hospital room. Looking in, he found Loki and Tony sitting up, eating the strawberries he'd brought them. Both of them eating the strawberries. He knocked twice, briefly, before entering. He nodded towards Loki and then Tony, assessing them critically in much the same way he'd looked over the pancakes. Tony seemed a lot more at ease than he had since the… Incident. Loki still had something… Pent up behind his relaxed posture and the slight smile he was greeting Fury with. Fury guessed they'd talked – or Tony had. Loki looked like he still needed to do so. "How are you?" he asked them both, quietly. Tony shrugged. "Better," he said, and for once it seemed as if he wasn't just referring to their still-healing wounds, but to their broken minds.


	12. Chapter The Twelve

**Soooo... *coughs* Please do pardon the late update :3**

Tony woke before Loki, momentarily forgetting the god was curled around him, and stretched out, yawning. A long hand grabbed his shoulder as Loki nearly slipped from the bed, grumbling incoherently as he too yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his other hand. Blinking at him blearily, the god narrowed his eyes as Tony smirked at him, then pushed him, hard, off the edge of the bed. Tony landed on his butt with a thump and a muttered, "Oof…" Loki snorted, before pulling the thin cover over himself and curling back up, closing his eyes. Tony harrumphed. Loki was definitely someone who hated being woken up in the mornings. He stood up and looked around, then noted the plate and smoothie on Loki's vacant bed. Fury must have come in earlier and dropped them off. He wandered over, stretching his legs as he did so, and examined the smoothie. It looked like strawberry, again. And the plate… Usually Fury brought Tony some buttered toast, but today it was piled high with strawberries. Big, red, perfectly ripe strawberries. He picked one of the top and sampled it. Sweet perfection. Fury had great taste in strawberries. He licked his lips and picked another strawberry off the pile – the biggest one. He crept up to Loki and waved it enticingly under his nose, before squashing the cut end of the strawberry onto the tip of his nose. Loki's hand shot up and grabbed Starks wrist, forcing him to drop the strawberry, before releasing him and fumbling around for the strawberry.

Loki opened his eyes as his fingers closed around it, and Tony cocked his head, grinning down at him. The god spared him a small glare before sniffing the strawberry, then taking a small nibble from it. Tony watched carefully, almost waiting for Loki to set the strawberry aside with a grimace. But instead, the poor strawberry was slowly devoured. "I love strawberries…" the god sighed. "There's more," Tony said, eyes sparkling with some sort of relief and an unnameable joy at seeing Loki eating properly for the first time in… Too long. The god hummed briefly then sat and looked around, before spotting the pile of strawberries. Tony grabbed two and handed one to Loki, watching him nibble gently at it for a while, before he ate his own in a few bites. Fury entered the room as Loki was beginning his third strawberry, and Tony saw his eyes were light as he noted Loki eating the strawberries. "how are you?" Fury asked them quietly. Tony looked inside himself, searching for an answer, and found it in the strange lightness that filled the pit of shame he'd felt inside himself, shame and guilt for succumbing to himself and taking those stupid pills. Because Loki wasn't blaming him for it, for any of it. Then he looked at Loki, who had a quiet light in his eyes as he paused his eating, and it was for both of them that he answered, "Better." Fury nodded, smiling slightly, then pursed his lips in thought. "You can move back to your own rooms, if you like," he told them. Tony's eyes brightened at the thought of his big double bed and lovely, warm covers. As well as the soft mattress. "but still with the non-negotiable bed rest," Fury added. "At least for Loki. Your throat is better?" he inquired softly. The god nodded. "Yes, Director. My thanks." Fury nodded. "And the knee?" he persisted. Loki stood up and walked around the room. His limp was there, and it wasn't subtle, but… "There is no pain. Sometimes, a little twinge, but otherwise, none," he announced. Fury sniffed then nodded. "You can move, then. I'll ask Nurse to give you the medication… Whenever it is you need it." Tony was pretty sure Fury had found out and committed to memory the exact times Loki was to be given tablets for his throat and knee, but Loki was nodding anyway, a slight smile upon his face as he sat down, putting his half-eaten strawberry back on the plate.

Fury left, telling them they could move whenever they wished. They sat together in silence for a while, feeling time tick by. Minutes passed and neither of them made a move, just sitting together for a while, a brief moment of peace, an oasis in the struggle of living. Tony stood after that and offered Loki a hand up. He took it, his scars scraping against Tony's own. A brief moment and then he pulled himself up, and another brief moment before he let go again. The nurse came in, shattering their calm. She was rather plump and motherly, and had no shortage of a brusque, brutal attitude. She gave Loki a slightly disapproving look and he blinked at her owlishly. "Fury spoke to me," she sniffed, and if there was any lack of disapproval in her gaze it was more than made up for by her tone. Loki offered her a brief, sheepish smile, before his eyes widened and his leg abruptly buckled underneath him. The nurse was immediately at his side, gripping his arm in what must have been a rather painful grip. She tutted and let go as Loki got his leg underneath himself again. She only let go when Loki brushed her off and limped a few steps towards Tony, glaring silently at nothing in particular before he turned around to face Nurse. Nurse shook her head. "Well. Less walking, more resting. I'd rather keep you here for a few days more, but…" she trailed off and turned around, no doubt muttering foul curses about Fury under her breath. Moments later she had a needle ready with Loki's painkiller. He narrowed his eyes and turned away as she injected it into his arm with a grip like a vice. Tony winced on Loki's behalf, understanding what was going on in his mind as he grimaced and shuddered - once Nurse's back was turned. Tony walked up to him and nodded to the door, a silent invitation to leave. Loki nodded, turning, and Nurse caught onto the movement, looking back at them. "Go! Shoo! Before I decide to lock the doors and ban Fury from the tower!" He and Loki nodded, slight smiles quirking up, and left rather hurriedly.

In his room, Tony heading of to his own. Loki shut the door quietly and looked around. A rather large bed, wooden. The mattress was too soft, but he'd put up with it the few times he'd slept here – too exhausted to care. There was an empty bookshelf next to it that he was fairly certain hadn't been there before. He'd have to look at asking Tony for a few books to fill them – Midgardian literature, from what he remembered, was quite exquisite. He would look forwards to reading more of it. He limped over to the bed and sat down, feeling the drug in his veins beginning to induce a strange drowsiness in him. He hated the feeling of it, hated the feeling of being forced to sleep. He rubbed his knee, cursing at the slight twinge. It had only buckled a few times, but it had been rather painful today, probably due to the amount of time yesterday he'd spent pacing around the small hospital room. The drowsiness threatened to take him over, and he shivered slightly. The room wavered around him and he squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths. He felt as if he were balancing a fine wire strung in mid-air – one wrong move and the memories threatened to overtake him, or worse, he would fall asleep and the memories would be tangled in his dreams, and he'd be forced to endure them until the painkiller had run it's course. He swallowed dryly and kept on breathing, but a rising tidal wave of panic swept over him, trying to knock him off his wire. "JARVIS, could you ask for Tony, pl…" he trailed off, barely hearing his own voice anymore, but feeling rather stupid for asking for Tony at the first brush of memories. He kept his gaze fixed on the wall by the door, fighting his internal battle, and his cheeks heated somewhat as Tony poked his head into the room. "Loki?" he asked softly. "Sorry…" Loki murmured, "It's nothing…" even though he couldn't contain a small shiver as the world lurched around him. Tony walked towards him and Loki wanted to tell him it was fine, he could go, but his body betrayed him and struggled to stand, left leg bursting with bright fireworks of pain and buckling almost as soon as he stood. His eyes glimmered with confusion and fear as he realized he was losing, losing the battle deep within himself. Tony still smelled of almonds, he thought to himself, as the mortal wrapped strong arms around him, holding him tightly. He rested his head on Tony's shoulder and breathed in and out, letting go of the wire and holding instead to the faint scent of almonds and the feel of Tony's arms around him. Three breaths, four, and the sea of memories ebbed away, and he could relax, eddies of darkness sweeping in as the painkiller pushed him into sleep that his still-battered body was all too glad to descend into.

Tony lowered him onto the bed and sat next to him, scrubbing his face. Memories of his own flashed through his mind and he groaned softly, his breath catching as he grabbed at his wrist. Not just of his own pain, but of seeing Loki thrust into his cell broken and battered, bleeding and nearly dead just so that he didn't have to suffer. The times later on, where Tony had had to crawl, literally crawl, over to Loki because they were both unable to stand, bowing under the weight of the pain that had shot through their bodies. Returning to the cell after Oriax had finished with him, the first time Loki hadn't been there, and through a blurring vision, seeing the horror, the anguish, the guilt in Loki's face, seeing him struggle to lift himself so he might move closer to Tony, hearing his cry of pain as he collapsed, still reaching for Tony. He _remembered_ it and oh, it was shooting through his skull, a lance of star heated iron pulsing through his mind, burning, destroying… He came back to himself in a sudden, disorienting rush as he heard the door open. Hastily, he stoof to greet Natasha as she walked in. Her quick glance probably told her all that had occurred, knowing Natasha. She blinked at him, ignoring his muttered and more than slightly awkward, "Hi…" Instead, she cocked her head and looked him over in a rather assessing manner. She extended a hand and waved him over, turning and leaving the room. He followed, curious, as she led him into the common room.

He had to stifle a laugh as he walked in, holding it back with a rather surprised cough. Steve was cleaning an extremely, unusually messy kitchen… While wearing pink, floral oven gloves. Natasha shrugged. "It was the only way he could get out of a boxing match with me." She smiled sweetly at Steve. "Am I right?" Steve cast a sidelong glance at her and muttered some incoherent threat. Her smile only widened. "What… Happened?" he asked of the mess, brow furrowed. Natasha sniffed. "Pancake competition." No elaboration. Tony narrowed his eyes. Steve was tidying the mess… Because Nat had threatened to beat him to a pulp… Which meant… "You lost!" he realized, a vicious grin spreading across his face. "Hah!" he laughed, as Nat's silence provided all the confirmation necessary. "Who was the judge?" he asked after a moment's thought. "Fury," muttered Nat. Tony almost choked at the idea o Fury judging a pancake contest – then again, he was one of the only people who might dare let Natasha lose. Nat just sniffed and turned away, settling down on the far end of the table. She jerked her head at him, beckoning him over. He went and sat next to her. She leaned in to him, and murmured quietly, "Some things, Tony, you can't just bottle up." He glanced at her. Nat had probably gone through some pretty rough stuff, and was the person, of all those he knew, that probably came closest to understanding what he and Loki had gone through. So he stayed quiet and looked at her, a little of the helplessness he felt unconsciously showing in his face. "You need to talk about it," she carried on. "To me, or Bruce…" Tony had already started shaking his head slightly. "Or," she hastily amended, "Just talk to Loki. And let him talk to you. I have…" A momentary pause and a shadow flitting across Nat's face before, "Some things are best kept to yourself, but not this. I know, trust me in this. I know." She nodded to him and stood. "I'll try," Tony whispered as she began to leave. She turned back and smiled gently at him. He smiled back. He would try, he told himself, vowed to himself. For Loki's sake, at least.


	13. Chapter 13

**Behold, long chapter!**

 **WARNING - Kinda graphic descriptions of torture, mention of rape**

 **IMPORTANT PLEASE READ- I'm thinking about ending the story here but if you like, I do have a few later scenes planned that I may or may not write - it's up to you, my readers ;) Please tell me your preferences, I'd like to know ;)**

Over the course of the next week or so, Fury began allowing them to – finally – leave their rooms, though he was especially careful with Loki. The god was adamant he was fine, or near enough to it, but his leg still occasionally buckled with no warning, and though his gorgeous voice was smoother each day, Tony sensed he still felt some tenderness there. Fury had told him Loki was otherwise fine, according to the scans, that there was some scar tissue inside him but nothing harmful. Tony had questioned a little further and found out Loki's lungs had been damaged but must have been healed just enough by Oriax. His ribs must have been broken, too – probably repeatedly. Nothing that would hinder him in any great way, except his leg. The nurse had told him it might always be the way it was now – the damage had been a lot deeper than expected. And then there was the whole other world of Loki's damaged mind – a pain Tony too felt, though perhaps not as much. Tony had nightmares, every night, and would wake up sweating, an image of Oriax in his mind, or sometimes an image of Loki, broken, or worse, dead. He knew Loki had nightmares too. Knew, because every morning since they'd moved into their own rooms, he'd woken to find Loki curled up on the sofa by his bed. He'd taken to leaving a blanket and pillow on it so he might be more comfortable, and resolved to find a better sofa to replace it with, one not so decorative and uncomfortable. Tony couldn't understand why he'd ever liked the thing, gray and ugly as it was.

They often spent time in the gym with Steve and Nat, not usually talking much. Tony found there was a pleasant, mind-numbing relief in exercising with Steve, lifting weights and sometimes briefly boxing with him. Loki preferred to spar with Natasha, building up his speed and strength slowly. It only took him a few days before he managed to floor Natasha – at which point she'd demanded he taught her Asgardian fighting methods. He seemed glad to do so – and she in turn taught him some of her own tricks. Their matches were spectacular displays of speed and strength, and Tony was looking forwards to seeing them train when Loki was at full strength. Fury didn't let them train for longer than an hour or two each day, and he seemed grumpy enough about what time he did allow them to spend there. Tony had never really felt the need for exercising the way Steve might, but it calmed him now, and besides, there wasn't much else to do with Mother Fury hanging over them like an overgrown, grumpy but benevolent vulture. Tony had ordered some books for Loki that he thought the god might like, and he'd whiled away a good few hours just watching Loki read them. Something had changed in Loki, changed in himself, too. Sarcasm and bravado had been stripped away under Oriax's whips, and they were the barest shadows of who they had been, but it was… Refreshing. A new start, almost. A slate wiped clean. Shadows still haunted them, though, and the more they 'recovered', the more Tony found himself mulling over what Nat had told him. She was right, and he knew she was right, but somehow, he didn't want to face those demons, not yet. Maybe not ever. He'd never want to. But he looked at Loki, sometimes, and saw eyes briefly filled with pain, of fleeting shadows, or saw the dull reflection of glowing braziers echoing in his pupils. He could see it clearly, see that Loki needed to talk about it. Could see he didn't want to, either. He knew – and had known for a while - how he might persuade him to talk, and it scared him, but today the darkness in Loki's eyes had been nearly palpable, and his leg had buckled more times than usual, and now his hands were shaking slightly as he turned the pages of his book, eyes not moving across the lines but fixed on a point in the middle of the book.

Tony looked down at his hand, his wrist. Looked at the band of scars around it, the raised skin that had faded from angry red to white, and glanced on the twin bands Loki wore around his own wrists. He sighed slightly and rubbed his face. "Loki," he began, and the god looked up, eyes clearing as he saw Tony. He glanced once at the window, at the setting sun streaking the room with red and gold, at the lone star already beginning to shine, and when he looked back at Loki everything he had been holding inside him spilled out, sounds making words making sentences, weaving a story of his pain which he knew was inconsequential next to Loki's, but he also knew Loki would understand. The god moved to sit next to him after he paused to heave in a breath and wipe his eyes. He spoke of the pain, yes. Of the whips and the coals and the poisons Oriax had used when Loki had been unable to stand between them. But more than that, he told Loki of what he had _felt._ The fear, not just for himself, but for Loki. The anguish at seeing what Loki had done, had suffered through, for him. Even his shame and guilt, because he was so grateful to Loki for doing it. His terror that last day. And he told Loki that that very terror hadn't been for himself, hadn't been because when Loki was broken, no one would stand before the whip for him, but that it had been for Loki. And finally, he told him he was glad, so glad, that they had survived it, survived together. What he didn't say, though it was hidden in his words, was how deeply he had come to care for Loki. He didn't tell the god the sneaking suspicion that had been forming in him ever since he had returned from Oriax's hell-hole and realised just how happy he was to see Loki alive, unbroken. Since he had realized that for once, up on that ledge, watching Loki about to break, there wasn't a thought to spare in his head about himself, because every part of him had been focused on Loki. He didn't tell him that somehow, Tony had fallen in love with the broken god of mischief.

Loki sat with him in silence, sat and thought. Tony was leaning against him, probably exhausted from both the emotional side of things and the rather late hour. The sun had set completely, and the room was lit only by the unusually bright moon and the lights from the city around them. He didn't say anything – there was nothing, he felt, that he needed to say. Just being with Tony was enough for him at the moment – enough for both of them. There had been something in his words – a raw truthfulness, enough that Loki doubted nothing he said. Even that Tony had been terrified for Loki's sake. It seemed almost unimaginable – that someone might have cared that he was being tortured, cared that he was being hurt down to his now-mortal soul. But somehow, Tony had cared about him. Strange, Loki thought to himself. Strange, that feeling that there would always be someone for him to rely on, and stranger still that there was someone who relied on him – not just when Loki was strong, strong enough to stand before Oriax, but when Loki was weak, too, unable to stop the crashing memories. And that last day… That Tony had not cared for himself, but for Loki… Something bloomed deep within him at the thought, something created from pain, from screams and tears but something that was beautiful in its life. A green seedling amid the broken shards of who he had been. Tony's breathing changed, deepening as he slipped into sleep. Loki brushed a hand across his cheek and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead, before slowly standing and half carrying, half dragging Stark to the bed, where he laid him down before retreating to his own rooms to sleep. Where the nightmares would drag him down, haunt him and tease him as it recreated for him Stark's screams, Stark's terror and pain.

Where the nightmares did exactly that, forcing him to feel every second of Tony's pain, forcing him to cry out as he tossed around in the bed. A voice, her voice, whispering to him that he should have been stronger, should have done more for Stark, because _this_ – a searing, dreamed pain flaring across his back – was something he could have prevented… The dream melted and disappeared into a reflection in brazier next to the iron slab, smoke curling in his nostrils, nothing he could do as Oriax ripped her nails across his chest and he felt the pain explode through him, tearing him apart, breaking him into small pieces. A scream rippled from him and he awoke, air shuddering in and out of his throat. He could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, at the ceiling cloaked in shadows. It was almost too much. Almost, except for that small seedling inside of him that strengthened him, gave him the will to live on, live through everything. Because Tony cared what happened, cared if he lived or died. He clutched at his chest, finding nothing of the pain, nothing of the blood. The room swam and blurred around him and his brow furrowed as he shook his head, trying to clear it. It was a battle to stand and pull on some trousers, every inch of his mind trying to force him to lie back down and _dream_ , but somehow, he managed to stumble out of his room and along the corridor, a hand on the wall which he had to use to steady himself.

For once, he had slept without nightmares. Nothing. The absence of them pulled at him as he awoke, confusing him, making him wonder why he was in his bed and not on that rocky ledge, watching Loki. Rolling over, he supposed the noise of the door had awoken him, or perhaps his sleeping mind had sensed Loki was there, and woken him. He narrowed his eyes slightly. The god, usually dressed when Tony saw him sleeping on the sofa in the mornings, was wearing only black trousers, barely visible against the wall, but the paleness of his chest stood out, three dark scars marring it, three rips into another world, almost. The rest of his scars had faded somewhat, to white rather than angry red slashes, but those last three… They remained dark red, almost like blood. It took him a few moments to notice Loki was shaking slightly, making no move to go to the sofa. Tony narrowed his eyes and looked carefully, then noted that Loki's eyes were closed, as if he were stuck in a memory. "Loki…" he murmured groggily, still not quite fully awake. He saw Loki's chest rise and fall deeply, and his fists clenched and unclenched. "Loki!" he insisted, louder and a little sharper than the last time. His eyes snapped open and locked onto him. He pushed himself off the wall and half walked, half stumbled towards Tony, where he didn't say anything as he slid into the bed and turned his back – his still scarred back – towards Tony, curling inwards slightly. Tony gave him a few minutes before moving closer, bending himself around the god until they were just touching. He could feel Loki breathing, deeply for a few minutes, then catching, speeding up, and slowing into a deep rhythm for another few minutes. The cycle repeated a few times, Tony just beginning to drift off again, when he felt Loki shift and turn so he was twisted slightly, facing up. His hair just brushed Tony's neck, but he made no move to remove it as Loki, finally, took a deep breath and began to talk.

And how he talked. His words were like smooth snakes, slipping into his mind, creating for him a world he knew so well and despised so much. Loki shared, as Tony had, his own pain. His flowing, ribbon-like voice spun in Tony's mind moving tapestries, showing him as well as telling him everything that had happened. Time stood, but the moon and stars still circled as he listened, image upon image upon image flowing over him. Sometimes, Loki only briefly mentioned what had happened. Other times, those Loki remembered best, were described so perfectly it was as if Tony himself were there.

 _Loki, in his cell in Asgard. A pleasant looking cell, white walls and clean furniture. Books, too. And then a rip, a slash in the world, and Loki looked up from where he was seated to see, stepping through the portal, Oriax and a few burly Chitauri soldiers. Loki looked briefly at the guard outside, but Oriax's cruel smile told him there was an illusion in place to prevent the guard noticing. Green magic writhed around his fingers, begging to be released. His didn't manage to summon so much as a small dagger that might deter his opponents before Oriax clicked her fingers and a thick metal band appeared on his wrist. He couldn't breathe for a few moments, the sudden inability to access his magic reverberating throughout his entire being. Enough time that the soldiers had grasped him. He got an elbow in one's face and kneed another in the stomach, but the remaining two had firm grips and dragged him, unable to scream for the metal mouthpiece suddenly appearing on him, into the dark depths of the portal. Oriax lifted his chin with a scarlet-tipped finger. "We'll have fun, you and I," she told him, a slight smile on her face. She brought her other hand up and ran a finger down his cheek. Blood welled, and barely a minute later he collapsed as the drug circled through his system. No doubt giving Oriax time to properly restrain his magic and drag him to the cell without any resistance._

 _Standing before Oriax, he let none of the fear in his eyes show. He morphed his face into a sneer as he stood facing Oriax, hands bund by heavy metal chains. If only he could break the bonds of the spell Oriax had placed on him, he might be able to destroy her with his magic. But he couldn't quite understand what she had done, and without his magic it was hard to study the spell properly. Oriax smiled back, no doubt aware of what was in his mind. She circled around him, boots tap-tapping on the unforgiving floor. One chain was attached to a large post on his left, the other, to a post on his right. There was enough slack that he could move between them. Oriax no doubt wanted him to run, try escape the whip she was wielding. Loki looked behind him almost distastefully, then glanced down to where he could just make out the still-unmarked flesh of his back. A canvas for Oriax to paint red as she might. He refused to let his shudder of fear show, and as the whip cracked for the first time, hitting the floor, he supressed his flinch and spat at her. A sniff answered him, and a crack of the whip. This time, it made contact. He let out a small cry and almost stumbled as the pain hit. He didn't allow himself to do so again, once he anticipated the pain and knew just how bad it was. He stood until the world wavered before him, and as the ground finally rose to meet him, he smiled, for Oriax to see. Even though he was in agony, burning in a fire made of blood, even though he was already afraid to wake._

 _The coals were next. Days had passed, he thought by his counting. Oriax had begun experimenting with him and the whips. Barbed whips she could only use a few times, and had to heal him afterwards. The healing spell she used was designed to cause pain in itself. Knotted whips, too. Whips coated with poison. He hated it most when she heated the tips of her whips, and somehow, she must have caught onto that, because he was lying, chained, facedown on a strange metal – or polished stone, his fingers were too raw to tell – slab. His heart picked up speed as he watched Oriax push into his field of vision a brazier filled with glowing coals. Almost instinctively, he jerked away slightly. He could sense rather than see Oriax's smile. "Oh dear…" she murmured, voice filled with some sort of sadistic humour. An iron bar was placed in the brazier and Loki's eyes widened. He tested his manacles, but they dug into his skin, already red and cracking slightly from the chains he'd worn so many times. He swallowed as the tip of the iron began to crackle slightly and glow, the heat distorting what Loki could see of it. He couldn't stop himself jerking away again as Oriax lifted it up to inspect it. "Perfect," she sighed, and the tip disappeared somewhere above him. That was the worst – not knowing when the pain would come. Panicking slightly, he tried to wrench himself around, see the iron, but he couldn't, not even as the manacles began to gain a coating of his blood. When the iron did descend, it was pain he had never known before, agony coursing through him, radiating out from his back, and he couldn't hold in a scream, not for that iron nor the ones that followed._

 _He met a girl called Sigyn after that. He dimly recalled the stories he'd heard of in Midgard, and decided the mortals must have found and misinterpreted one of the lost books of prophecy. Sigyn was not his wife, and he was not close to her in that way. But he grew to care for his cell-mate, who was to Loki what he later became to Stark. She'd been here a few months and often took the brunt of the whips for him. But as the weeks passed, a stillness grew over her. Oriax had made her 'teach' him. Lesson one – observation. A clever ploy of hers to make Loki watch her torture. Rather than being tortured himself. Barely days later, she sobbed out lesson two – pain – as Oriax threw Loki towards her, after the irons, and cracked his ribs against the harsh stone walls. There was some regret in her eyes, perhaps a week later, as she held a bowl under the mouth of the snake dripping poison into Loki's face, that she whispered, lesson three is watching someone break. The poison lapped the edge of the bowl and splashed onto her fingers. Loki felt something inside her snap and the bowl fell, poison coating his chest, and Sigyn, sweet Sigyn whom he had never known outside the cell, stepped backwards off the cliff and fell, fell, fell. Loki screamed and screamed, and it wasn't just because of the poison, but because Sigyn was the first person who had looked at him and seen something worth suffering for. She had been his friend, and now… He wished, inside, to join her in death, but he was chained and no amount of pulling would loosen the manacles. Oriax did not seem to mourn the loss. She emerged next to him and laughed, the noise mingling with his distraught cries._

 _He did not expect there to be another like Oriax, but there was. A male he did not learn the name of, black hair, but dark red eyes instead of green. Handsome as Oriax was beautiful, in a deadly, dark and predatory way. She had led him to his cell and was telling him he'd been here… Six months. Yes, it could be that. His body had lost all trace of smooth skin, and Oriax hadn't healed his hands for long enough that he could barely feel the cool kiss of the manacles, and any movement felt like the irons on his back. Again, and again he'd screamed, he'd begged for death. Oriax enjoyed it, he was sure. This man, too, seemed to take delight in pain. He examined Loki closely, before turning to Oriax. "Six months?" he asked with a raised brow. "You are getting slow, Oriax," he smirked. She cocked her head. "He's a rather marvellous toy," she replied. "Your methods might be faster, but I want to take my time with this one. He's slow to break – it's really quite delightful. They don't usually last this long." Loki looked at her with hate in his eyes, and the man smiled. "He has spirit! Give him to me for a day, I should like a try with him. See if he is as strong as you claim." Oriax cocked her head. "oh, he is," she hummed. "Very well then. But prepare your own room, I shall have to find another to play with today." The man nodded, a smirk growing on his face. Between one second and the next Loki and the man were in a small, completely closed room. There were chains wrapped around his wrists, lifting his arms behind him slightly, connecting to the top corners of the back wall. Loki stood his ground, the man standing before him. Then the man ran a hand down Loki's bare chest, and quietly murmured, "I do like a bit of spirit – it really spices things up, don't you think?"_

"He… He…" Loki's voice broke and he began coughing, curling up even tighter. Tony pulled him closer. At some point – he didn't even remember when – he had wrapped an arm around him, holding him steady as he spoke. Loki leaned back into him after the coughing subsided. "Oh gods, Tony, he…" Loki couldn't seem to say it. Revulsion passed through Tony as he realized what the man had done to Loki. He pressed Loki to him and then murmured, "the one time I saw him, when he came with Oriax and mentioned being surprised to see you still here, was it…?" He felt Loki's nod. "The same. A second time. Yes. And… There is not much different for me to tell. You arrived only a few months after the first encounter, and nothing much happened in that time. And apart from… The man again, you know everything that happened to me – or saw its effects, at least." Tony found himself gently running a hand down the god's arm, soothing motions. The god stilled and relaxed for some time, before turning and looking over Tony's shoulder. The sun was rising. They must have been talking for hours. No wonder Loki's voice had gone hoarse – none the less beautiful, though. "It's been so long since I was outside, properly," the god mused quietly, eyes only half open. Surprised, Tony thought about it. Aside from the brief struggle with Thor, they had not been outside. It had been almost a year since he'd attacked New York, and even then, Loki had been trapped in his own mind. Almost a year without the kiss of wind on his face or the taste of fresh air. "JARVIS, the suit," he murmured quietly. He didn't think Loki had heard, even though they were right next to each other. A tear was sliding down the god's cheek, but his eyes were closed, and he looked relaxed, almost relieved. Relieved of his burden, the memories, the pain. Tony watched as his iron man suit stomped over and opened. He slipped from the bed and into the suit, and felt it close around him. It was almost like coming home again, being in the suit. He walked over to the bed and gently scooped up Loki, setting him on his feet. He didn't even need to tell JARVIS to open the window before the bot did, and he was airborne, Loki clutched tightly in his arms.

The god seemed to be more lucid, clutching Tony's arms, a small smile on his face and his eyes bright as they swooped around the tower once, twice, then landed on the top of it. A small space Tony had built where he could watch the city, with a bench but nothing else. He emerged from the suit to see Loki watching the sun rise over the city, light splintering between the skyscrapers, staining the sky golden. Loki was crying, even as a cool wind swept over him and he raised his arms slightly, allowing it to sweep around him. Tony walked up behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around the god, saying, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Loki nodded, tilting his head up to look at him. Tony couldn't stop himself brushing his lips to Loki's in the barest of kisses He pulled back quickly, suddenly realising what he had done. What it might remind Loki of. His eyes widened. He was stupid. A stupid fool. Loki wasn't… Loki would probably never love him. Hell, he didn't even know if Loki preferred men or women, and… Gods, he was a fool. Loki would never be able to look at him again. He twisted his face away, swallowing, feeling his cheeks redden slightly.

A cool hand slipped under his chin and he was forced to look Loki in the eye. The god didn't look disgusted, or lost in memories, or even… Unhappy, though tears were still sparkling on his cheeks. Tony didn't dare let hope flare as he looked into the god's eyes for a second, two, and then Loki pulled him firmly towards him and kissed him deeply. The world exploded in fire, fire that was everything Oriax's flames were not. And when they pulled apart, Tony was surprised to see the world had not been burned to cinders.


	14. Fourteenth The Chapter

**Just a few more chapters, I think, but I promise something interesting will happen within the next two ;)**

A closeness had grown between them that needed no words. Where before Loki might have broken a silence with a comment, or Tony with a sarcastic quip, they now find a small gesture or smile might suffice, when they were together. Where before they might have asked each other how they were, they now saw it in each other's eyes. A bond stretched between them, meek and quiet, but unbreakable. Unyielding. They still had nightmares, but somehow, with the knowledge that the other was just a room away, they seemed no worse than any other, and they did not scream at the memories that tried to shatter them. Because holding them together was a love so strong no pain could break it, nor torture force it to yield. Perhaps it had been the torture which had made it grow, forcing them together until past grievances could be ignored, until they fought with every shred of their being to protect the other. And perhaps also it was that there was no other, not on this Earth, who could look at them and understand what they had been through, and how deep they had come to love each other. Barely a week had passed, yet somehow it felt like they had been in love for centuries. That love, it… It belonged between them. It felt right, so right, to both of them, and now they had finally seen it, realised it was there, they would be unable to live without the other. Tony had been considered a playboy, before, but now… He was Loki's only Loki's, and Loki was his. And they had not yet done anything more than kiss, just a few times. It was not something Tony or Loki found unpleasant, nor something they wished to change. All they needed was each other, for the time being.

When they had looked up from the kiss on top of Stark tower – gods, Tony had never felt such _feeling_ in a kiss before – there had been no regret, no pain, no shame in Loki's eyes. He had just smiled, slowly, before turning himself into Tony's embrace. Exhaustion had weighed both of them down – they had both slept a mere few hours, and even though they had both gone with less sleep for longer, there was something tiring about releasing their pain. But satisfying, so satisfying, to see the lightness in Loki's eyes, and feel the same in his own. He had felt that he might fall asleep there and then, but instead had flown back to his room so they might sleep more comfortably. They hadn't exchanged words, but Tony could feel a… Almost a thread of sorts, stretching between them. A bond. He'd just stepped back in when Fury had stormed in, and demanded where they were. Tony had told him they'd gone outside, for a while. Fury's face had softened, just a little, as he'd gruffly told them to go wait in the common room for the others, they'd be having breakfast together. They'd gone, both of them dragging their feet and Loki looking like he might collapse in exhaustion. Tony hadn't even cared what the others might think when he had laid down across Loki's chest as soon as they'd reached the sofa, an arm around him. Never mind that he still had no shirt. He didn't think Loki would have minded, anymore, the others seeing his scars. They'd both been asleep within seconds of lying down, and had been deeply unconscious as Fury and the Avengers walked in, the former somehow managing not to curse after he had asked JARVIS just how much sleep they'd gotten. They hadn't seen the faces of the Avengers as they'd seen Loki's scars properly for the first time, nor as JARVIS had told them, briefly, that they had been speaking late into the night about what had happened. None of them had asked JARVIS what they had talked about. Fury had drawn a blanket over them and let them be.

And after that, they were near inseparable. More silent than ever, but not for lack of recovery: the opposite, in fact. They found they simply didn't need to talk so much, so they didn't, sometimes spending an entire day without words, just smiling or gesturing. The Avengers seemed to note this, and slowly stopped asking them how they were, as they noted the brightness in their eyes, the fact that Loki's limp had almost disappeared, that Tony didn't scowl or frown, or let a darkness slide over his eyes if he was lost in thought. Perhaps they realised that what was between them was now deeper than mere cell-mates, perhaps not. They certainly had suspicions, and Tony was near-certain Fury knew, or had at least guessed. He looked oddly smug every time he saw Tony with hair slightly ruffled, or Loki with a pale blush dusting his cheeks, usually after they flew down from the roof. It was their spot, Tony supposed. They sat there together, read there or designed gimmicks there together, and one night, Tony had even dragged out some sleeping bags and they'd gazed at the unusually clear night sky.

Loki had even set himself up a few plant pots with strawberry plants, and was thinking about building a small rail along one side of the roof. He was measuring it now, sun sparkling off his black hair, and Tony couldn't help but admire this stunning creature that had given up so much for him. "I want it to be iron," Loki said, eyes sparkling as he tapped Tony's suit. Tony hummed in agreement – something he must have picked up from Loki. "But not red and gold." Loki shook his head and pursed his lips, looking at the edge. He reached to Tony and felt through his pockets until he found his phone, which he took out and snapped a quick photo of the edge, before standing up and extending the phone to Tony. He took it and smiled. "And here I thought you wanted me," he quipped, eyes crinkling. Loki smiled right back. "Oh, I do," he murmured, voice low, and then his mouth found Tony's. The kiss was no less passionate than their first, and Tony relaxed into it, drawing the god closer to himself. After a while, a gorgeous while, Loki withdrew and murmured, "Let's go." He stepped backwards towards the far corner of the building and cocked his head at Tony. He rolled his eyes and sighed before he stepped into his suit and let it close around him. As soon as the mask flickered into life and he saw Loki, the god stepped backwards right up to the corner, raised his arms slightly, and let himself fall backwards. His low laugh stretched behind him as Tony dived off the building behind him. Loki would love extreme sports, he thought to himself with a smile on his face, as he neared Loki and for a time just fell alongside him, enjoying the smile on the god's face as the wind whipped around them. He would have to cut Loki's hair, he decided, and brush it out, too. As they neared the earth – though still a few storeys up – Tony wrapped his arms around Loki and flew them back up the tower to his rooms, from where they would no doubt be going to the workshop to build those railings.

Bruce and Steve were just chatting, really, when the conversation somehow turned to Loki and Tony. Bruce was pretty damn certain they were in love, whereas Steve, ever the innocent, just looked rather confused. "Didn't you see them last week?" he insisted. "They looked so cute!" he continued. Steve rubbed a hand through the hair, before rather calmly deciding, "Bruce, they've known each other for barely a matter of months. There is simply not enough time to build up a suitable level of trust for-" Steve petered of and stared at Bruce. No, he realised. Past Bruce. "What?" he asked, turning, but he could see nothing outside the window. Steve near-ran to it and looked outside, mouth open. Bruce jogged over and looked. Loki was in free-fall, Tony cruising alongside him in his suit, catching Loki before he hit the ground. Bruce frowned, wondering what was going on, before they sailed fairly slowly past the window they were looking at and he saw that Tony's mask was up, and they were both smiling in a rather exhilarated fashion. Bruce grinned and waved at them as they passed, both of them replying with small waves before they passed out of view. Bruce turned to Steve and noted the look on his face, then burst out laughing. "Your argument is invalid," he cackled. "I'd say that takes a fair amount of trust!" Steve shook his head, seeming so confused, the poor man. Bruce clapped him on the shoulder, still smirking. "But…" Steve muttered weakly, then appeared to give up as he shook his head and raised his eyebrows briefly. He then crossed over to the kitchen and took out a pan. "More pancakes from our champion?" asked Bruce eagerly. Steve looked around, eyes wide. "Don't say that, Nat could be-" Natasha's head poked through the door. "Be what? Listening? I would never! And, Steve, pancakes would be great. Did you see Loki and Tony just then? I swear Fury had a heart attack when he saw!" She turned to Bruce and began chatting with him about Loki and Tony, leaving poor Steve to look at his pan in utter bewilderment, before seeming to give up and actually begin to make the well-anticipated pancakes.

Loki had kicked him out of his own workshop. Tony could barely believe it – he doubted he'd ever been kicked out of anywhere in his life (except maybe a few bars when he was younger, but that didn't count). But somehow, without Loki needing to even raise a fist against him, the doors were locking in front of him and he was walking away from the workshop, utterly bamboozled. He decided to wander up to the common room, noting a rather delicious smell floating through the hall. When he emerged into it, he discovered Steve with those awful pink floral oven gloves again, for some reason, making pancakes. A large pile of them already waited, and Bruce and Nat were already at the table, and Clint was making small talk with Steve. Tony shook his head, deciding not to question Steve's motives for wearing oven gloves whilst making pancakes. Maybe the pan was too hot or something, he wasn't sure. Or Nat had bullied him into wearing them, he had no idea. He sat down next to Bruce and looked quizzically at the oven gloves, deciding that in actual fact he was a little too curious not to mention them. Bruce leaned over and whispered to him, "Clint told him he wouldn't be able to make a perfect pancake – with flip – while wearing oven gloves." He was silent for a beat and then added, "where's Loki?" Tony gave a noncommittal shrug, hardly eager to divulge the information, then took pity on Bruce's curiosity and muttered, rather sourly, "He kicked me out of the workshop. Why?" Bruce didn't answer, staring at Tony for a few moments and then beginning to laugh, nudging Nat and repeating what Tony had said in a hushed whisper. Tony almost managed to hide his smile as she started laughing too. Soon, everyone knew it, and their laughter was only interrupted by a spectacular pancake flip from the oven-glove-wearing Steve, which brought about whoops and noises of approval.

Steve set his pan down and turned around to them, letting the pancake sit for a bit. "Why was he in the workshop?" he asked, voice curious. Tony sighed. "He wanted to build a railing for his strawberries on the roof," he told him. Steve frowned and seemed rather confused, so Tony mirrored his expression. "What?" he asked Steve. "How did you get strawberries… On a roof?" Tony felt his own confusion was slowly increasing to the same amount as Steve's. "I… Flew them up?" he near-asked, wondering why Steve was asking. It seemed rather obvious. Though now, Steve looked less confused and more like he was trying to hide a smile. "You flew up to your roof in the iron man suit… Carrying plant pots." Tony blinked. "Yes…" he said slowly. Bruce snorted. "You carried a bunch of plant pots onto your own roof? The hell must the people down there be thinking?" Clint chuckled, too. "You must have looked so stupid!" he cackled, miming carrying a bunch of plant pots. Nat didn't laugh – she smiled at him. That made Tony nervous. "So sweet of you, to do that for Loki," she smirked, voice like honey. Tony spluttered and went slightly red, still absolutely perplexed as to what the others seemed to find so funny about iron man carrying plant pots. It wasn't exactly normal, but it wasn't as… Hilarious, as they made it out to be. And Nat – he had no idea what to say to her in reply. Loki had insisted? He certainly had… Mentioned it once. "He made me do it," he sulked, even though what Loki had actually said was that it would be interesting to try growing plants up on the roof. "JARVIS?" asked Steve, as if seeking confirmation. "Don't say a word," Tony growled at the AI, who replied, "Of course not, Sir. I wouldn't dream of telling them that Loki didn't have any part in the plants on the roof apart from mentioning – just once, might I add – that it would be interesting. I simply wouldn't dare dream of it, sir," he continued. Tony growled at the AI, feeling his cheeks going bright red. "So what?" he sulked, crossing his arms protectively. Every single one of the Avengers – even Steve, heaven help him – gave him a knowing smile in return. He fled the room.

Hours later and it was dark, and he was preparing to go to sleep. Loki hadn't even left the workshop to eat or drink – though JARVIS had assured him the god had drank a glass of water while working, after some reminding. "He's remarkable like you when he works, sir," JARVIS told him after he asked him what Loki was doing. "And he says I'm not allowed to tell you." Tony snorted. He must have skipped over a glitch in JARVIS's systems that allowed him to disobey his direct orders, but JARVIS had only ever done it for Tony's own good – most likely the AI knew Loki would want it to be a surprise. He had no inclination to remove the glitch. "Tell him to hurry up," he grumbled. The AI was silent a moment, then Loki's clear tones cut through the air. "Patience, dear Tony," he said, sounding vaguely exasperated. Tony heard the sound of something dropping and a not-entirely muffled Norse curse echoed from the hidden speakers. Tony chuckled. "When will you be done?" he asked. "Just go to sleep," was the answer, still sounding exasperated. "I'll let you know when it's done." Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine," he sighed, rolling into his bed. "Good night," came Loki's faintly amused tones, and the audio switched off with a slight click. Tony frowned. He'd have to get rid of the click at the end of the audio. Or at least make it optional, if only to ensure a degree of privacy should he doubt a person might switch off the audio and simply listen in. He was contemplating it for a while and had to fight the urge to scribbled it on a pad. He lost the fight and padded to the bedside table, writing it down on his stark pad with a few quick taps of his fingers. Done. He got back into bed and rolled around for a while, unable to sleep, mind buzzing with thoughts and almost missing Loki's steady breathing. Eventually, though, he managed to close his eyes and relax for long enough that he drifted into sleep.

And then, of course, when he woke up it felt like only seconds of sleep had passed. It was still dark, and he was momentarily confused, before realising it was Loki shaking him awake impatiently, eyes wide and excited and looking very much like he hadn't slept at all yet. Loki pulled him right out of the bad and he landed hard. "Oof," he grunted, getting up and shaking his head to clear it slightly. Loki already had the suit ready and pushed Stark into it. Still only half awake, he didn't resist, and almost automatically put his arms around Loki before flying them through the already-opened window onto the roof, where he stepped out of the suit. The bench had been turned to face the railing and Loki sat him firmly down on it. "C'n I got to sleep now?" he asked groggily. Loki whacked him on the shoulder, and he sat up a little straighter, blinking as the sleep slowly began to fade. He narrowed his eyes but couldn't make out much of the railing beyond quite elaborate swirls and shapes. The moon was behind a cloud. He turned to Loki in confusion, but the god put a hand on his face and shoved it away to look at the railing. He was about to ask what he was supposed to see when the moon came out from behind the cloud, and Tony could do nothing but gape.

The railing had been decorated with strips of polished metal on the top of every swirl, and in the middle of them hung small shards of metal and glass melded together into perfect spheres that caught and reflected the moonlight in spectacular ways, casting the cool light over the small rooftop area. The top of the railing wasn't flat – it dipped and curved, and when Tony looked carefully, he realised that the dips were in exactly the right places where sunlight would break through the city's horizon in the morning, and twisted slightly so it might reflect the setting sun's light. It was beautiful, and he could tell it would be stunning in the daylight too, but in moonlight… It was perfection. "Do you like it?" whispered Loki. Tony nodded, still gaping, and pulled Loki to him, only then realising just how cold it was and shivering suddenly as he leaned into the god's warmth. "You already put it here?" he asked, realising just then. Loki nodded. "I flew in your suit," he said. "JARVIS piloted, though." Tony nodded, astonished at the fact that not only had Loki taken it upon himself to craft and install the railing, but he'd also done it in around twelve hours, perhaps slightly longer, he wasn't sure of the time. "It's beautiful," he told Loki, awed. The god smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Thank you," Loki said, looking up at the moon. "You are, too," Tony continued, gazing at him with half-open eyes. A low hum echoed in response and the moon seemed to shine all the brighter, the railing sparkling away as they watched the sky together.


	15. 51 retpahC

**Hallo ;)**

The next day, Loki decided to call upon his acquaintance. He thought to himself that if he were staying with the Avengers, he might as well make himself useful while he was at it. Tony found them a nice sitting room where they could talk and Loki pushed himself into the astral realm, seeking with his mind the presence of the Doctor. Fury had told him later that the man was called Doctor Strange, according to a note left by him. A rather odd name, he thought, and was in the process of thinking when the Doctor, feeling his call, appeared in front of him. "Ah, Loki!" he smiled, extending a hand in greeting. Loki shook it, smiling warmly back. "I believe you made me an offer, last time we met, Doctor," he began with no preamble. Strange nodded. "I believe I did. What are your reasons?" he replied, gazing at Loki not entirely trustingly. "I'm staying with the Avengers. I want to make myself useful while I'm here," he told him, voice calm and quiet. Strange looked him up and down then nodded. "I'll be with you in a minute," he said, then vanished. Loki returned to his body to find a rather impatient looking Stark. "Well?" he asked, looking at Loki expectantly. "He'll come," Loki told him – not a moment too soon, as a portal opened, and the man stepped out. "Doctor Strange," he announced himself, stretching out a hand to Stark. They shook hands and the Doctor turned to Loki. "Do you want to study my magic first, or…" he trailed off, looking the barest bit uncertain. Loki blinked.

"Show me," he told him, and extended a hand into the sparks that began flying from Strange's hands. No heat or coolness. As far as he could tell, it was mostly controlled by the mind. "Something physical?" he asked, curious. Ribbons began stretching between Strange's hands and he prodded them, until he was satisfied. "You control it with your mind, yes?" he asked, looking at Strange. From the corner of his mind he saw Tony listening in, curious. Strange nodded. "But for the portals, we used sling rings," and he slid a strange item from his hand, almost like two rings joined at the top by a bar. Loki cocked his head, curious, then took the sling ring and slipped it on. Immediately, his magic-attuned mind sensed the power in it and he raised his eyebrows in delight. "I had no idea Midgardians were so advanced," he told Strange, "Though I wish I had my magic to show you." He concentrated on the ring, prodding it with his mind. He felt oddly confused as he realised he could do that – push things with his mind. He hadn't been able to before… Tony. Perhaps the man had changed him deep inside, when he had kissed him, enough that the restraining spell had had it's grip on his mind loosened. Encouraged, he pushed further, and looked carefully at the power in the ring. It looked a little like… Ah. Svartalfheim. He'd spent a year with them, training, though in his long lifespan he had forgotten all about it. He dimly remembered one of his teachers showing him to – ah. A few sparks flew from the sling ring and he concentrated further, before picturing in his mind the common room. He pushed the details, the little things, into the picture in his mind and after a few minutes, his pushed his mind towards the sling ring ad circled it in the air, sparks trailing into the air and forming a perfect circle, and within it… Yes. The common room. Loki grinned and closed the portal, handing the ring to Strange.

Tony decided Strange looked decidedly flabbergasted. "You… You did it on… On your first try?" he eventually spluttered out. Loki smirked, and behind Strange, Tony echoed the smirk. "I've been a master of magic for years, my mind is well attuned to it," he told Strange. "And I came across a similar form of your magic once, in Svartalfheim. A long time ago," he smiled, probably amused at Strange's expression. "I already know the many meditative techniques," he continued, "whereas you or other mortals will have had to take up most of your lives learning them." Strange closed his mouth after a few moments then shrugged and said, "fair enough." Loki smirked again. "but please, show me how you do it without the power source. I do not know that yet." Strange brightened up and began to explain, Loki listening along politely, occasionally nodding. After a while, it developed into a full-blown conversation that Tony, for all his genius, couldn't keep up with. He waved at Loki as he left, who nodded to him as he left, before turning back to Strange and listening intently. Tony shook his head as the door closed, deciding to go to the gym instead. Nat or Steve might be there, and he wouldn't mind training for a while with them while he waited for Loki.

Only Nat was there, but when he asked, she seemed all too happy to spar with him, almost overly happy as she pulled on some boxing gloves and intently watched him pull on his own. Five minutes later and he was flat on his ass, a new bruise forming on his cheekbone. Nat was utterly insincere as she apologised, then told him sweetly, "Even Loki could do better!" Tony grunted in agreement and got back up. "Yep," he sighed, before the fight began again, barely lasting longer than the first time. Thankfully, Nat made no further comments about Loki for the next load of rounds, until, when Tony was getting tired (Nat, he was pretty certain, would have happily carried on beating him up all day), she said, "Fury almost had a heart attack yesterday," with a knowing expression on her face. Tony frowned and she smirked back. "He was looking out of the window when you fell past," she elaborated. "I thought he'd swallowed a cat or something before I looked out the window too," she continued, completely ignoring the beginnings of a blush that had crept onto Tony's cheeks as he realised what she was referring to. He did his best to shrug it off and pulled off his gloves. Nat gestured towards the firing range, but Tony shook his head, saying, "I've got JARVIS for that," before waving a quick good-bye and leaving.

Checking a watch, he realised he'd been fighting with Nat for around two hours. Surely Loki would have finished with Strange by now. Then again… He decided to go get a shower and a change of clothes before checking on them. Once he was presentable – he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of a wizard by appearing all sweaty from the gym – he made his way to the room where he'd left them, to find them in deep discussion… Both changing the colour of the sparks pooled in their hands. Tony rolled his eyes as he walked in. "Practising for the kiddie birthday parties?" he asked with a grin on his face. Loki grinned back, Strange simply raising an eyebrow before relenting and giving a small smile. Loki's sparks began popping like firecrackers and rapidly change colour, before he popped them in bursts of smaller, multicoloured sparks. Tony nodded, impressed. "Did Strange teach you that?" he asked, and he could have sworn Strange went red as he said it, before he mumbled, "Um, actually, I didn't know it was possible to make them change colour…" Loki and Tony shared a smirk before Loki stood up, groaning slightly as he arched his back, popping it. "Oof," he muttered. "I've been sat down for ages." Tony raised his eyebrows. "You've been sitting in the same place for nearly two hours?" he asked, slightly incredulous. Both Loki and Strange shrugged, the latter also standing up and bending a few times, bones popping. Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head at them, and was about to remark on their stupidity when Fury walked in, eyes instantly alighting on Strange.

"How long have you been here?" he asked suspiciously. "Uh… Two hours?" replied Strange innocently. Tony snorted as Fury, an incredulous look on his face, said, "and I didn't know?" Before, of course, he seemed to realise the answer and shook his head. "Tea or coffee, anyone?" he asked. "Bruce was making some so I thought we might join in." Strange looked at his watch and frowned. "I'm sorry, I can't stay much longer – another time, Loki?" he asked, turning to face the god. Loki nodded eagerly, and waved goodbye as Strange bowed slightly and stepped through a portal. "Loki, do you want to be introduced to my one and only god?" he asked, smirking. Loki managed to look affronted, asking, "am I not your one and only god?" Tony snorted, before they both realised Fury was still standing there and hurriedly began coughing and saying that yes, they would very much like tea and coffee, thank you awfully, so kind of Fury to invite them along, they would be only too delighted, and began practically bowing and scraping to him in rather weak attempts to divert his attention. It was probably not working, but Fury managed to stay expressionless and mention nothing as they followed him to the common room. The coffee was already on the table in a steaming pot, and Tony licked his lips. "Behold," he told Loki, grabbing the pot and raising it up slightly. "Coffee!" Loki raised his eyebrows and kept them up as Tony poured him a mug and added some milk. Fury, Bruce and Nat were talking quietly together, and Fury was smiling. He was smiling. Nat was wide-eyed, and then glanced up to meet Tony's eyes, who quickly flushed and looked down at the coffee, pretty certain he knew what Fury had just told them.

Steve and Clint walked in just as Loki tried his first few sips of coffee. He made a rather spectacular face at the bitterness, but appeared to like it as immediately after he began drinking the entire mug, Tony slurping at his own. Nat practically ran to Steve and Clint and began whispering to them in a rather suspicious manner. Carefully listening in, Tony cringed inside as he overheard the words 'one and only god', them immediately stopped listening. Looking at Loki, he noticed the god was blushing too, and smiled rather awkwardly at him. Loki smiled back, slightly apologetic. _My mistake. Sorry._ Tony shrugged. _No matter,_ he told Loki silently. _I don't mind._ Loki smirked at him, then turned his full attention to the rapidly draining pot of coffee. Eventually, Bruce got up to make a new pot and Clint and Steve sat down. Steve, sitting next to Loki, leaned over and asked rather (extremely) awkwardly, "So… How are you guys?" Nat, over the other side of the table, slapped a hand to her face and shook her head into it, muttering unintelligibly. "Smooth, Steve," Tony told him. "Real smooth." He and Loki gave Steve matching smirks and took delight in his going red. Bright red. "But we're great, thanks," he added, to alleviate his embarrassment a little. Nat let out a little squeal. "Awww, you two are so cute!" she burst out, clapping her hands together. "They finally admitted it?" asked Bruce, turning to set the pot on the table, and Clint raised his eyebrows in silent question, before Tony put his arm around Loki and pulled the god close, both of them smiling slightly, albeit blushing a little. "I knew it," cackled Nat, and Fury cleared his throat loudly. "The coffee's here," he told them, pointing at the steaming coffee pot. Steve began pouring them all fresh mugs of coffee and Bruce and Nat leaned over conspiratorially. "Have you two made out yet?" Tony choked on his coffee, Loki echoing the noise, both of them going bright red and shaking their heads. "No," Tony muttered. "Not yet," Loki added for him, smirking slightly. Tony pretended to whack him, but had Nat and Bruce not been hungrily eyeing their every move, he would have kissed him, and something must have showed in his face because Nat smiled at them knowingly and pulled Bruce back.

They drank their way through the second pot of coffee, too, though it took them a good deal longer than the first, exchanging idle chat and telling jokes at each other's expanse every so often, resulting in light-hearted laughter. Even Fury, to pretty much everybody's surprise, joined in. His smiles were so rare it made the afternoon quite pleasant – it was rare they were all together like this. Though as the hours progressed, Tony noticed Loki becoming less and less involved in the conversation, almost seeming to drift off into a world of his own every so often, slumping against Tony for a few second before shaking himself to awareness. After a while, he asked a casual, "You all right?" to Loki, quietly. He nodded, but leaned his head back onto Tony's shoulder and murmured, "Just tired. I think I over-extended myself a little – even this magic requires an… Affinity for the magic arts, and… I can explain to you later." Tony blinked, curious, but nodded. "You wanna go to our rooms? The coffee's pretty much finished." Loki nodded, and sensing the relief, Tony realised the god was probably more tired than he let on. He stood and Loki stood with him as Tony excused them, and the others nodded and waved their goodbyes as they walked back to their rooms. Loki bypassed his own rooms and headed straight to Tony's, sitting down and relaxing onto the sofa, eyes already half-closed by the time Tony sat down next to him. "So?" he asked Loki, curious. Loki hummed sleepily then said, "I believe after we kissed, that also… Changed me, in a sense. In doing so, it loosened the boundaries of the restraining spell. Not enough to use magic, but enough that my mind is more… Versatile. I can reach out to and sense the power in magical objects – such as the sling ring. I did not know until today, and while training with Strange, I was also testing the limits of what I could do – not much, but enough that I have exhausted what little magic may have seeped through the gap… And exhausted myself, too," he added, not that Tony couldn't tell as the god leaned his head back and slowly relaxed, breathing deepening within seconds.

Tony smiled, gently brushing back Loki's hair and embracing the sleeping god. If that was true – which he had no doubt it was – then it meant that Loki gaining the knowledge he was loved had made him near-enough a different person. Tony, too, was almost a different person, he thought to himself. Perhaps if Loki trained his mind, that small sliver of magic – not proper magic, judging by what he'd said, but a heightened sense of awareness – might grow. It would be useful even if it didn't grow, allowing them to check if any objects were magical or not. Stupid Loki, going and exhausting himself like that, but Tony could understand that need to know his limits. After some time, not feeling particularly tired due to the effects of coffee, he decided he may as well be productive, and grabbed a stark pad from the coffee table nearby, beginning to sketch ideas for a suit of armour Loki might be able to wear. Green and silver, definitely – a true Slytherin, he smirked to himself. He debated making an iron-man styled suit for him, but then thought Loki might appreciate something with a little more finesse. Besides, he would always be able to loan Loki one of his own suits. Now, the armour, on the other hand… It needed to be unique. Flexible and lightweight, probably lots of leather under metal plates. Ideas began forming in his head and he started sketching, working on about three different ideas at once, that he might make all three and Loki would be able to choose.

The next morning, they were still on the sofa, the stark pad having fell to the floor sometime late in the night as Tony fell asleep, slumping over to rest his head on Loki's lap. His hand still clutched the stylus as he woke up, wrinkling his nose and pushing himself up, before glancing at it in confusion and setting it down on the table. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, blinking, before noticing the stark pad on the floor. He picked it up and ran an eye over it to check for cracks, but finding none he gave a small grunt and stood up, placing it on the table with the stylus. Loki stirred, before slipping suddenly to the side and awakening abruptly, flinging out a hand to stop himself falling face-first onto the sofa. Tony snorted and Loki raised his eyebrows. "I've been woken worse ways," he said mildly, then mischief sparkled in his eyes as he rose quickly and pulled Stark into a kiss, refusing to let him breathe – not that he particularly wanted to, when Loki was kissing him – until Tony thumped him three times in surrender. After breathing deeply for a minute, he looked up at Loki. "Oh, I'm going to get you back for that," he grinned, and Loki smirked right back. "Oh reall-" he began saying, but he didn't have time to finish before Tony pushed him against the wall and kissed him right back. After a while they pulled apart, and Loki hummed. "Breakfast?" he asked, waving his hand at the door. Tony nodded and began walk to the common room, Loki trailing a few steps behind him. It was rather crowded once they arrived – everyone with the exception of Fury was sitting down and eating toast or crumpets, so instead they stayed standing, Loki greeting Fury while Tony just barged past and headed straight for the coffee machine. He made two mugs and they leaned against the wall, sipping at the coffee, watching the others talk as Fury joined them at the table.

They had barely had time to eat a crumpet each before Strange appeared from a portal, face grave. "Something's breached the atmosphere," he told them grimly. Loki stood straighter, attentive. "Hostile?" he asked. Strange shrugged. "Powerful magical signature. I don't think it's benevolent." Loki frowned then closed his eyes and his face morphed into one of concentration. Moments later his face paled noticeably. "It's Thanos," he announced grimly, and Tony did a double take. Oriax's… Master, or sorts. "Definitely hostile," Loki said. "Which way is it headed? We need to go meet it. Evacuate the area, if it's not a remote location." Strange nodded and concentrated for a few seconds before looking around at them all. "He's heading right this way. He'll be here in about ten minutes."


	16. Chapter The 16

***pushes chapter at readers***

The room erupted into near-chaos after a small, shocked moment during which no-one spoke. Fury stood up, shouting at them loudly to gear up and get outside RIGHT NOW or else, and they each ran their separate ways, Steve to where his Captain America suit was stored, Nat and Clint down to the weapons room, Loki finding himself being pulled by Tony down to the workshop. They ran down the stairs and JARVIS opened the door for them without needing a word of command to do so. Tony barrelled in and pulled out an iron ma suit. Loki blinked. It had been re-painted to a slightly darker shade of red, almost like blood. Tony didn't waste any time pulling it on, and Loki went over to a table where he had crafted himself a few daggers over the past week, but Tony stomped over and stopped him, mask sliding up. "I was doing stuff yesterday and got some of my bots to build something last night," he told Loki. "They should have finished by now. JARVIS?" Loki looked around curiously, and then the back wall of the workshop slid back. At first, all he could see was a small room overrun with bots and still iron man suits, but then he noticed three of the bots clustered around another suit he couldn't quite make out. "They're making them one at a time," Tony said apologetically, "and I forgot to tell them to start on the second and third after they finished. But this one was my favourite anyway," he said, and the bots moved away to reveal a suit.

Not quite an iron man suit, but not just cloth either. It was more like a lightweight half-suit of armour, but with less metal. Dark green leather, most likely treated to be incredibly tough yet flexible, was partially covered with elegant silver plates, swirls cut into them decoratively. His old cloak – he hadn't even seen it in days – hung from the upturned shoulders of the suit. The metal plates protected his chest, back, upper and lower arms and legs, but the rest was that beautiful leather. He nodded appreciatively, mouth slightly open. "It's beautiful," he told Tony, and the mortal sniffed in agreement, before saying, "There's lots of knife slots in the material, and it's hard enough to stop a bullet. I made it darker green. Loki nodded absentmindedly, then slipped over to it and ran a hand over it. The metal was cool, the leather supple and flexible. He turned to Tony, a half-smile on his face despite the upcoming fight. "Begone," he told him, shooing him out so he could change. Slipping into the suit, it was as if… Well, JARVIS had probably made the measurements. It was perfect. He noticed a pair of thin leather gloves studded with metal plates on the back, and slipped them on, as well as the black boots he found waiting. Astonishing, that Tony had managed to design and get his bots to make this all in one night – though many of the materials might have been ordered to arrive within a few hours, to save time during manufacturing. No doubt the suit was a prototype, but… He noted the daggers on the table and quickly found the surprisingly well-hidden slots, pushing the knives in before striding out of the room to meet Tony.

The iron man suit, Tony inside, stared at him before the mask slid up. Tony's mouth was open, and he seemed to realise that as he closed it slowly. "Damn," he whispered, and Loki smirked. "It's better than I thought," Tony added, as Loki grabbed two twin daggers and slipped them into the gaps in his sleeves. Clever Tony – the suit was… "It's marvellous," he murmured, blinking at Tony. Tony smiled back, looking slightly abashed. "You look great in it," he told Loki, then his face darkened. "We need to hurry. We only have a few minutes left," and jerking back to reality, Loki nodded, and they raced outside. Clint and Nat were waiting, looking up, and Steve raced out a moment later. Fury and the police seemed to be arguing, but Fury flashed a badge at the officer, and he turned away, shouting orders. The streets were already clearing and far above them, they could make out a donut-shaped ship slowly making it's way down. Strange appeared next to them. "It's slowing down, we may get an extra few minutes before it lands," he told them, face grave. Then, to Loki, "The hell did you get that suit from?" Loki shrugged, smug. "Tony made it," he told him, and Nat and Clint turned around, both doing a double take as they noticed Loki's suit. Nat raised her eyebrows. "Wow," she remarked, looking him up and down. She looked rather 'wow' herself, in her black widow suit. Clint just looked like Clint, albeit with a fancy archery kit. Steve would never change, Loki thought to himself, and wrinkled his nose. Steve's suit must be so _uncomfortable_ to wear, it looked so… Tight. Tony, of course, was hidden behind the suit, but he noted the others noting the slight colour change. Bruce was standing behind Fury, Loki saw, and the two of them made their way over. Bruce saw the suit immediately and gave Loki a good once-over, then giving him an appreciative nod. "You look good," he said, and Fury, standing next to him, shrugged and gave an incline of the head in agreement, before frowning again and saying, "Not the time for admiring each other's suits. It's landing within two minutes." And indeed, the doughnut was becoming bigger and bigger, beginning to blot out the sky. The streets were finally clearing, police swarming everywhere yelling at cars to get a move on.

Another minute and the donut landed, crushing buildings beneath its heavy bulk. The Avengers ran the short distance towards it, Clint pointing out a small rectangle that might be a door. They waited, unsure of what was going to happen. Then all of a sudden, a bright flash appeared from the sky behind them and when they turned around, they saw Thor and a band of warriors. Sif and the warriors three all stood behind Thor, who looked around immediately spotting Loki. A blink of surprise was all the emotion he showed for a tense few seconds, before he strode over and embraced Loki. Loki embraced him lightly back, and heard Thor whisper, "I am sorry, brother," as he let go of Loki. Loki shrugged. "It is well, Thor." He saw the flicker in Thor's eyes as he noted that Loki did not call him brother. Perhaps they had been brothers before, by spirit if not by blood, but after what had happened… Despite what he may have thought when he'd wanted to see Thor earlier, he no longer needed him back. Tony was enough for him. Though he knew Thor would always be a friend to him. Loki had almost forgiven him, him and Odin, for what they had said and done to him. Thor, he supposed, had been misled, and he was happy enough to welcome him as a friend. Odin, on the other hand, he would rather never have to see again. He briefly greeted Sif and the others, who seemed to have mixed feelings about seeing him again. He didn't care and stepped closer to Tony, as the rectangle in the donut Clint had spotted slid open, and from within strode out the large form he remembered all too well.

Somehow, he found himself reaching for Tony, and the mortal gave his fingers a brief squeeze before they faced Thanos head on. Doctor Strange was quietly murmuring to Fury and the rest of them everything he knew about Thanos – and the infinity stones. As he approached, he turned to Loki. "Anything to add?" he asked quietly, and Loki thought for a moment. "He has the power stone and many faithful followers. He's already the most powerful being in the universe. Other than that-" Thor interrupted him. "There was a plea for help from Nidavellir not too long ago. We found the planet overrun by Chitauri, but managed to fight them off for long enough to triumph… With heavy casualties to the dwarves. Eitri… Eitri claimed he had been forced to make a gauntlet to… To harness the power of the stones. Heimdall sent us here once we returned." And indeed, when Loki looked closely, he could see the signs of war on Thor and his band, dishevelled appearances and slightly bloodstained clothing. Strange sighed. "Then we'll fight until death," he said simply, and raised his hands, magic sparking around them, as Thanos approached. He made no move against them, simply walking towards them slowly. Alone. Fury raised a hand, signalling to them to wait. They did, albeit cautiously. Loki looked on that face and felt something deep inside him twist and roar, as his eyes darkened. He would kill Thanos for what he had done to Tony, what he had done to all the people he had hurt or killed the families of. But still, Fury did not let them attack, until Thanos stopped a safe distance away from them. Clint knocked an arrow and pulled it back, pointing it right at Thanos' s ugly purple head. Fury glared at him but he didn't lower it, not even as Thanos began to speak.

"There is an army in the ship that the mortals will be powerless against." Thor stood straighter. "I have faced armies alone and triumphed," he called out loudly. "No you haven't," Loki heard Sif mutter, and had to suppress a grin. Thanos smiled at them. "You haven't face _my_ army yet, not in all it's glory. And-" Thanos stepped forwards, raising a hand. "You won't have to. If you give me _him_ - _"_ and here he pointed at Strange, before his finger travelled over to Loki, "and _him_." Tony snorted. "no chance, grape juice," he told Thanos loudly. Thanos shrugged. "Perhaps I could take your whole little party instead," he said. "How is that supposed to be a better trade?" Bruce asked incredulously. Thanos shrugged. "Exactly. You either give up the two, or we burn this world to cinders and take all of you anyway." Fury blinked. "So this army, what does it consist of, exactly? Because all we needed to do last time was-" Thanos nodded and interrupted him. "Yes, yes. Blow up the power supply. But these are not the Chitauri. They are… Upgraded, shall we say. And there are many more of them." Clint raised his head. "And they all fit on that ship? How do we know you aren't bluffing to make us give up without a fight?" Thanos smirked slightly, and reached his hand into his armour, drawing out a small bag from which he took two strange spheres, throwing them to the ground behind him without taking his eyes off them. Within seconds, the spheres unrolled and became huge, ugly creatures, not dissimilar to the Chitauri, but indeed looking… Upgraded. Loki could practically feel Tony raising his eyebrows. "So you plan to defeat us using mega ugly pokemon. Cool. How you gonna capture us if we all die fighting them, though?" Thanos rolled his shoulders and sighed as though bored. " _I'm_ not," he said, and seemed about to say more when Fury lowered his hand, looking almost bored. Immediately, Clint let his arrow fly. Faster than was possible, especially from an overgrown purple raisin, Thanos had the arrow in his hand and it was broken. They ran towards Thanos, Tony launching himself in the air, but were stopped by a wall of purple that flung them backwards and held them in their original positions, spreading around them in a mist.

A few moments and Strange ripped free of the spell, flinging out long ribbons to try tie Thanos. The purple mist faltered, and a long roar ripped from Bruce as he grew into the hulk – and Loki never thought he would have been so happy to see him, even if he did have to fight the sudden urge to flinch. And then for a while, it almost seemed like they were winning. Tony concentrated his attacks on the Chitauri (for lack of an original name) on the left, and Loki fought the one on the right, ducking and dodging and whirling around it until he had stabbed it in so many places he was eventually lucky enough to get a deep enough slice to end the creature. Black blood spattered onto his chest plate, and he turned to help Tony, only to catch sight of him cutting the Chitauri in half with a powerful beam of light shooting from his hands. Strange's cloak had wrapped around the gauntlet stopping him from using it, and he was unsuccessfully trying to cut his hand off with a portal. "He's resistant to it," he hissed, face ashen, and then Thanos ripped from his bonds and a wave of power flung them back once more. Strange gave a sudden cry as a dagger flew past him, slicing his cheek. Loki looked behind Thanos in alarm, noting the black cloud emerging from the ship and making it's way quickly over. That was where the dagger had come from. He didn't have time to extend his mind to it before Strange collapsed, unconscious, and Loki realised the dagger had been poisoned. He flung his mind at the spell holding them in place and grappled with it before he dropped to the ground in a shower of sparks and leaned over Strange. Definitely poisoned. Thanos looked at him in amusement. "You're still alive, too," he mused, but it sounded more like a warning that a surprised statement. He stood up and looked at the black mist now circling around them, and then Thanos' spell vanished, forming instead a protective bubble around him, as the avengers dropped to the ground. Through the mist they could hear a strange noise, the same noise marbles clinking against each other might make. "Fifty upgraded Chitauri released on your city," Thanos told them. "It might have been worse." Steve tried to step into the blackness, but it wouldn't let him. Loki leaned towards Tony and pulled him up, horrified. Thanos was let into the black smoke when he stepped back, and was slowly obscured until all they could see of him was his face. "You have doomed Midgard by not going willingly. And you have doomed yourselves. You asked who would capture you? Here she is. I'll leave her to it." And then he vanished completely, leaving them in the black mist. Slowly, the mist drew back until it was concentrated in one spot, a black cloud obscuring the thing within.

And then, finally, the black vanished completely and Tony and Loki gripped each other, faces paling to paper-white, the other avengers looking at them and then the person facing them, realisation dawning. "Hello again," Oriax purred, madness and anger lighting up her dark green eyes. "I'm afraid it will take more than beheading to kill me." And then she laughed the low laugh she'd often laughed while watching them scream. Cruel black whips appeared in her hands. "It will be fun to play with you again."


	17. Ten and seven

**IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ:**

 **For some reason the update time didn't show correctly on the last chapter but checking on my mobile, it's defo there ~ please make sure you didn't miss it as there are big spoilers in the first sentence ;)**

Clint, Nat and Steve he told to fight off Oriax, and they were doing a pretty damn fine job of distracting her, though she was too fast, too strong, to be so easily defeated. In fact, Fury had the sense she was toying with them. Bruce, in hulk form, was slowly smashing the upgraded Chitauri, guarding the perimeter and crushing any trying to step out of the imagined bounds Fury had drawn out for him. Loki and Tony… They probably would have been near-useless against Oriax, judging by how pale they had gone when they had seen her, but he had no doubt they would want to fight, and besides, they were needed. So, under his orders, they helped the hulk and the Asgardians destroy the Chitauri one by one. Fury was well aware that he was more mortal than the others, except perhaps Stark, but without a suit to protect him. All he had was his gun, and he couldn't reload it fast enough to kill the Chitauri swarming around them. Occasionally, Clint had to turn and let an arrow fly at them to help him out, something which was making him slightly annoyed, as he was the weakness in the team and Clint had his own fight. Though eventually, the fights abated slightly and the Chitauri left over were just stragglers. Oriax seemed to tire of the play and swung her whip three times, too fast to be seen, but the crack of the whip was unmistakeable. Steve and Clint yelped, blood spreading down from their cheeks, but somehow Nat had managed to dodge. She didn't dodge the blast of dark power sent her way, and landed sprawled near Fury, who silently helped her up. Oriax raised a hand. "Send the next fifty," she commanded loudly, and they heard Hulk begin to roar and the sounds of fighting increased again. To Fury's disgusted astonishment, Oriax began inspecting her nails and blew away a small speck of dust, before turning and walking away. Steve and Clint hadn't risen.

He half-ran over to them and shook them, yelling their names. Eventually, they looked up blearily. "That hurt," muttered Steve weakly. Clint nodded, and Fury noticed him panting slightly. Both of them were ashen and looked like they might be sick. "Poison?" he asked them, a little unsure, and they both nodded in response. Fury cursed and turned to Nat. She was clutching her ribs, face pale. Fury began cursing. They had about thirty seconds before the next load of Chitauri arrived, and that damned black smoke was making it hard to see. A sudden realisation knocked the breath out of him. Thanos had not been lying. This world would be destroyed. "Get up," he told them, harshly but not unkindly. "This is one fight we need to win." And he walked into the mist, already loading his gun, seeking out the Chitauri. They came in a wave, and Fury shot and shot and shot until he was covered in black blood but the Chitauri kept coming. He must have killed at least twenty before the flow abated, and, looking down, he realised his arm had been cut open. He couldn't particularly feel it, and he didn't particularly care. Not as he heard Oriax call for another fifty in vaguely amused tones, and once he was in the thick of the fighting, he could only dimly recall hearing the Hulk bellow. In pain, not victory. But somehow, the Chitauri hadn't yet left the borders. One hundred and fifty so far, and they were already exhausted. Even Thor's lightening flashes were becoming less frequent, the thick hides of the Chitauri seeming to become stronger and more… resistant, every time they fought them. Two hundred came too long after that call, and Fury began to despair they would ever win this fight. His injuries began to add up, the slash on his arm joined by a cut on his leg and a searing pain across his ribs. And he was running low on ammo. It was after what seemed like so long that he realised the mist was clearing and the Chitauri either dead or retreating. After a while, he made out Oriax through the smoke and headed that way, before breaking into a limping run as he noted that something bad was happening.

His ribs, oh gods. One or more were probably broken, and he was panting heavily as he arrived. Everyone except Hulk and the four strange Asgardians were clustered around Oriax… Who was holding, locked in a headlock, Steve. "Let him go," Tony said in a low voice, palm up and ready to shoot. "If you do that, you'll blow his head off," said Oriax sweetly and Tony lowered his arm with a snap, clearly frustrated. "Give me what I want, and Thanos what he wants," Oriax insisted, a blade at Steve's throat. Steve looked… Bad. The red mark was still on his cheek and leaking blood, but his eyes were only half open, and he seemed to be gasping for breath even though Oriax didn't appear to be choking him. Fury pointed his gun at Oriax, but she cocked her head and blinked at him. "You should know I'm faster than that," she murmured, and pushed the blade harder to Steve's throat. A drop of red slid down his throat. None of them moved. Helpless, Fury looked around. Strange was imprisoned in black mist, unable to move. Loki was similarly held, but the rest of them were free. Unable to do anything unless they wanted Steve to be killed – or worse. Worse being that the knife she held at his throat must have been coated with poison, because Steve jerked slightly, groaning in pain. Fury had no idea what she had done to him. Probably more poison. He looked again at everyone. Clint was holding his bow, but his hands were shaking, and he looked more than a little out of it. Thor was hanging his head, whip-marks marring his strong shoulders. Nat was trembling, and Tony… Tony looked pale, but his face was set in grim determination. "Give me what I want," Oriax told them again. "Give me what Thanos wants." Fury began to open his mouth as he noticed where Oriax was looking, about to yell, but a black clamp appeared on his mouth and he couldn't make a noise. Oriax was staring directly at Tony. "Give us what we want… And we will let him go. Let them all go." And somehow, Fury knew Tony would do anything to save earth. He'd been prepared to blow up in space a year ago, and now it looked like he was prepared to do more. "Let him go," he said quietly, taking a step closer and spreading his arms out in near-surrender. Oriax smiled at him. From where he was stood, behind Tony, Fury noticed the small missile detaching itself from Tony's back, but kept his face expressionless. No doubt in the moment that she let go of Steve, he would…

But Oriax didn't let go of Steve, not until Tony – and the missile – were completely smothered in black mist, restrained, and she pushed Steve back to them, not watching as he slumped to the floor in a crumpled heap at their feet, and reached into the mist to pull out Tony, running a hand down his face almost lovingly. He gasped in pain and bewilderment as he realised what had happened, and looked up at Loki. Fury followed his gaze. Loki was screaming Tony's name silently, pushing at the magic with all his might, fighting it with every shred of his being, but to no avail. Oriax watched, amused, until he quieted, tears beginning to streak down his face. "That one," she said, pointing at Strange, and the cloud floated over. Strange twisted and bucked within it, but his luck was not dissimilar to Loki's. Tony's eyes were wide with fear. Oriax dragged him with her as she walked over to where Strange was, and used her magic to look over the amulet around his neck. Strange twisted and tried to back away from her, unsuccessfully. Then, she placed a light hand on his head and closed her eyes briefly. When she did, Tony looked directly at Fury. _Kill us_ , he mouthed. _Please._ Then Oriax looked back up. "Hm," she hummed. "A little too breakable for me, I think. I've had better toys." And here she smiled at Loki and gave Tony's hair an almost affectionate ruffle. Fury looked at Tony and saw the plea in his eyes, but he couldn't shoot while she was looking or she would dodge the bullet, impossible as it sounded. "I might leave you behind," she told Strange. "All he wants is the amulet." Strange shook his head violently, but Oriax just chuckled. Gods, she was a despicable woman. Demoness. Thing. Whatever she was – she was still despicable.

And there he saw it – a weakness. In her love of pain, she would drag out the fight for as long as possible just to see them hurt and hurt and hurt until they broke. Perhaps they would lose anyway, but he had a feeling Oriax would stay to watch them lose – and let Strange, Loki and Tony watch as they lost, too. She ran a nail down Tony's face and closed her eyes briefly as he shuddered. But his brown eyes met Fury's, and Fury, with a speed he didn't know he possessed, raised his gun and fired a shot. Natasha, too, fired two shots. She must have noticed their silent communication. For a brief moment, he had hope. But none of the bullets gave a good shot. One went wide as she blurred and dodged. But the second grazed her cheek and the third hit Tony in the shoulder, skimming off the bone and grazing Oriax's side. Fury cursed – has the angle only been a little different, the wound might have been more serious. But at least they'd drawn blood in this, the final fight. And managed to royally piss her off. She raised a hand. "Send a thousand," she commanded, and as Fury looked at the broken faces of his Avengers, he knew that there was no hope, not any more. They were doomed, as was Midgard. Oriax wiped the spot of blood from her cheeks and shrugged. Then hissed as behind them, the blinding light of the Bifrost erupted and suddenly stood ranks upon ranks of Asgardian warriors. He could not see any that might be Odin – presumably he hadn't bothered to show up. But he recognised Heimdall from Tony's description of him, and the golden warrior strode over to them, gaze unwavering. "We will take care of these Chitauri," he told them as Oriax fumed, "But though we may again save Midgard, I fear that we cannot defeat the demoness. That would take a power far beyond our reach." And then he ran in the direction of Hulk's cries, where the golden warriors were converging upon the Chitauri. "Send more!" Oriax shouted, voice cutting over the battle, but the Bifrost slashed apart the dark mist and more warriors poured out, answering Oriax's call with one of their own.

Fury met Oriax's furious gaze and smiled. Even though he and his Avengers might die, at least Earth would be saved. Oriax clapped her hands together above her head and darkness began spreading around them, until there was a bubble around them, containing them. Fury had no doubt the walls of the black dome surrounding them would be rock hard and unyielding. Oriax surveyed them all, her previously furious face now impassive. "Well then," she muttered. "I guess I'll just take all of you." Her eyes narrowed and Fury shivered as a small smile curved up her lips. "Loki," she said, turning to face the wide-eyed god. "That was a nice trick, storing all of your magic in a place my spell wouldn't reach." She cocked her head. "Perhaps you had forgotten it was there. But you don't have any now, do you?" Loki's silence was enough answer. "All you have is mortal tricks," she continued, gesturing at Strange. Fury raised his gun, but Oriax didn't even blink as she cracked the whip that suddenly appeared in her hand and he stumbled back, the whip cutting open clothes and flesh. He felt blood sliding down him, and a cool detachment swept over him, a natural protection against pain. "How about we repeat the last time?" Oriax asked Loki. "I did enjoy watching you scream." She huffed a low laugh, and then Nat made her move, launching herself at Oriax as Clint fired an arrow. The arrow was dodged, and Fury looked up through a blurring vision to see a knife sprouting from Clint's shoulder. Nat managed to punch Oriax, once, hard, in the stomach, and almost managed to rip Tony from her grip before Oriax flung her back and she landed with an audible crack on a pile of broken bricks. Had he not been in the process of blacking out, Fury would have been sick, seeing them all broken like this. Steve still hadn't moved, except his shield… it was clutched in his fingers, where it had been lying on the floor before. And as yet another strange poison of Oriax's swept through his body, he could do nothing more as he succumbed to it and fell into the rising blackness.

Strange wanted to scream as he saw the avengers, the mightiest heroes of earth, lying broken on the ground. But he couldn't, the darkness wouldn't let him. He'd never encountered anything like it before. His magic – and by extension, the magic he had helped Loki regain – was useless against it. This wasn't simply controlling of the mind, this was real, true magic, the type in storybooks. Not particularly nice storybooks. He couldn't let the amulet fall into the hands of Thanos, were the only thoughts in his head. He couldn't. Not only might Midgard – Earth – be at stake, but the fate of the universe. Thanos already had the power stone – and Oriax was almost as powerful in her own right. There was no way they could win, but he could hide the time stone. Take it from the amulet and put it somewhere nowhere but he would find it. He struggled, trying to fight off the blackness with his body, but focused his mind on the time stone, pulling it from the amulet and replacing it with a fake. The true amulet he did not know, for a while, where to hide. Not on Midgard, not unless he wanted Thanos to tear the world apart looking for it. Instead, he hid it in the golden clasp on the cloak of levitation – something which might well be overlooked when he was taken to the ship. It was inevitable, he thought, trying to fight rising wave of panic and fear. There was nothing he could do any more. At least the stone was hidden – or at least, he thought so, until Oriax turned to him and smiled. "Trying to hide it?" she purred, and Strange's blood froze. She must have felt his mind working. Within milliseconds, the real stone was back in the amulet at his chest. "It's protected," he managed to gasp out as the blackness closed in tightly around him, creeping over his face and obscuring his view. "You'll never get it," he hissed as his vision went completely black and he couldn't breathe, not as tendrils of black crept into his nose and mouth, and had he not been unable to take a deep enough breath, he would have cried out. Thirty seconds. Forty. The panic was setting in as he realized she was going to kill him. A minute. And then the push of the black mist lessened, and he took a few great, gasping breath, the mist clearing from his face. "I want you to see what will happen to you," Oriax told him matter-of-factly. And, though he still couldn't seem to breathe deeply enough, he managed a shuddering gasp as he noted the sight before him. Loki was kneeling on the ground, black iron chains binding his hands, a clamp made of similar material over his mouth. His suit – which had been impressive indeed – was torn and covered in blood, the metal plates dented. His chest plate had a deep dent in it that must have been making it hard for him to breathe, but he was somehow managing to kneel with some dignity, and look Oriax in the face without flinching as she prowled up and down and round and round Tony Stark, whose iron man suit had been stripped away and was lying, shattered, nearby, along with his shirt. Strange noted the scars already on his back, and felt sick. He had to do something. He couldn't let Oriax do this. "I'll go with you if you let them go," he told her in a low voice. "Willingly." She could torture the time stone from him all she liked, there was a chance she might not get it. But his will was crumbling as he watched Loki and Tony exchange a glance of utter weariness and sorrow, and he knew that they had suffered enough.

But Oriax looked at him with mirth dancing in her eyes, and he knew she was not Thanos, she would not hold to her word. Not that she would give her word in the first place. "No," she hummed. "But I like your co-operation. So, you won't have to watch." A cruel smile, and Strange knew that Oriax saw to the part of him that wanted to watch, to be silent support to Tony and Loki, to let them know they would not be alone. And to see what he was up against. This time, when the black mist came and smothered him, it clung to his face and did not let go for agonising minutes, until he felt the faintest brush of air on his face just as he passed out.

Steve was conscious, but barely. He kept his eyes half-closed, barely able to believe what was going on, and would have felt so even had poison not been coursing through his body. But it seemed Oriax didn't know about some of the benefits of being a super-soldier, and it seemed quick recovery – even from poison – was one of them. But he still ached… Everywhere, and the feel of his cool metal shield under his fingers was a relief. He hated himself for it, but he knew that he had to wait for the right moment to strike. And that moment would be most likely when she was in the middle of torturing Tony or Loki, when she was at her most distracted, and thus vulnerable. And so, he waited quietly and observed as Oriax tied Tony down, as Loki tried and failed to scream his name from under his mouthpiece. Tony stopped trying to struggle. He began to look almost… Empty. Vacant. As if he was slowly losing himself. Gods, he had to act. He couldn't let this go on… But he had to. So, he did the soldier's thing: he waited for the enemy to show a weakness before striking, his iron will stopping him from flinching and betraying himself when Oriax finally raised her whip.

And to Loki's immeasurable relief, she brought it down not on Tony but on himself. Even though the pain was almost worse than he remembered, even though the whip was barbed and ripped apart the skin down the side of his face and neck, even though he wanted to scream, he found himself shaking in relief, able to bear the pain because it was him and not Tony being hurt. Tony… He was screaming, calling out Loki's name as he turned his face up and met the whip as it lashed down again and again, sapping his will and endurance from it. The ground wavered red around him, and when Oriax removed his mouthpiece, he couldn't seem to find the breath to scream. Everything was cold and hot and on fire and freezing away but he wanted her to continue. To poison him and burn him and rip him apart, him, not Tony. Never Tony. _Please no,_ he thought to himself as the whip stopped falling down. Oriax did not hear his silent plea, but even if she had heard it, she would not have listened to him.

 _Please no._ But the weight of the chains lifted, and they wrapped around Tony instead, weighing him down, and Loki slumped to the floor, near the still-prone Captain. He had not been able to scream for himself, but when he heard the whip crack, this time tearing into Tony, he found himself screaming " _Tony!"_ over and over, tears now mingling with the blood on his face. Even Oriax's laugh was lost on him as he screamed for his lover's sake. He gasped in relief along with Tony as Oriax gave them a brief pause, but his face twisted in fear as Oriax turned to him and crouched down, looking him in the face with her twisted half-smile. She waved a small bottle of something. "Remember this?" she hummed, and as she began painting her nails with whatever it was in the bottle, Loki realised he did remember, and he knew exactly which poison it was. The three scars on his chest burned at the memory. She couldn't… She wouldn't use it on Tony. _She would,_ a voice in his head told him, and despairing, he knew it to be true. Oriax finished and stood, turning, and in the brief moment when she turned and did not block his view, he met Tony's eyes. _I'm sorry,_ whispered Tony's eyes. _I love you_ , they whispered, and then Loki lost sight of him. Agony coursed through him, but he fought it, fought it, and pulled himself up, torn and shattered limbs screaming in protest, but he managed to slide across the floor just enough to see Tony, staring wide-eyed and afraid, but unflinching, into Oriax's face as she gently drew her hands down his chest. They would have matching scars. Loki gave a cry of utter despair, because they would not live long enough to see the scars form, to talk over what had happened. They would never kiss again, or just be with each other in happy silence. The world dulled and all he could see and hear was Tony, and the screams that tore both of them apart.


	18. Just randomly, who likes donuts?

**Second to last chapter, enjoy ;) I'll most likely start on editing the earlier chapters, and after the next chapter I'll post another when the editing is done just to let you know, and do some shout-outs then ;)))))**

It was that moment, that one moment, that truly un-made him, that truly broke who he had been. He had never loved or been loved, and though he had begun to truly love Tony, he had not realised the depth of his love – this _true_ love – until Tony was milliseconds from breaking. In that moment he was shattered completely… And remade. Something new, something extraordinary, rearing up inside him. Oriax must have sensed it because she swung around, a hand outstretched, almost as if to try restrain him with her dark magic. Loki could feel the depth of her power and knew she would probably succeed, and Tony would break, and there would be nothing more for him to do but die. Until Steve, still lying at his feet, tightened his grip on his shield and swung it, hard, at Oriax, and it hit her in the back of her knees, bringing her crashing to the ground. Kneeling in front of him, as it were, though the sight gave Loki no particular joy. And that new power inside him reared up and begged to be let out. He opened himself up to it, throwing his head back as the magic crackled around him, bright and vibrant and so full of life and love. "Impossible," hissed Oriax. "You were broken!" And he had been, he thought as he looked at her. Perhaps he still was, irreparably. But Tony would be there, his mind broken just like Loki's, at his side. He raised his green-glowing hands and smiled coldly at her. "Oh, Oriax," he said coldly. "Didn't you know? Broken edges are the sharpest."

Had it been a tangible thing, this universe could not contain his fury. This was not the desperate kill he had made – unsuccessfully - when leaving Oriax's realm, nor the hunts for power and glory he had seen Thor take part in. It was almost like revenge, but for all of them. For himself as well as Tony. For Sigyn, and for all the others Oriax had killed, broken, hurt so badly they could never be repaired again. He let the emotion into his magic, and it stained darker green as his wounds knitted and healed, but he left them as scars that he would carry forever. He drew the poison from Tony's body, and healed his wounds, too – again, leaving the scars. Steve, Clint, Natasha. Healed. Fury. Healed. He shattered Strange's cocoon of darkness and he tumbled to the floor, beginning to gasp and breathe deeply, sitting up, watching in vague confusion. And Oriax… He drove his mind into her black power, looking at it, feeling it, sensing it. Hating it. Disgusted by it. And then he destroyed it, destroyed every single scrap of it, because although Oriax could survive physical imitations of death, she was not truly a physical being. The Oriax left kneeling in front of him was mortal at last. For a brief moment, he considered giving her to Fury to end. But looking over at Tony, at the slightest of smiles but the unending agony in his eyes, Loki decided this was his kill to make. It belonged to him and all the people who had suffered at her hands. One more time, he ripped into her mind. He could have made her suffer everything he had suffered at her hands, everything she had made others suffer. Instead, he showed her his emotions. He showed her the emotions of love and happiness and peace, let her see them, understand, and it was her own sudden guilt that made her scream, because she could finally see what she had done, at least in part. She had never felt those emotions, hadn't been capable of feeling them. But she had still had a choice. And for that, Loki tore the feelings from her and felt her mind grope blindly for them as her mouth parted in a silent scream. "Good bye, Oriax," he whispered, and she vanished. Even her soul he destroyed. She would never lead another life, never harm another soul.

He clapped his hands above his head and his magic streamed bright, shattering the remnants of the darkness. Around them, the golden army warred with the dark one. A sweep of his magic and every single Chitauri crumbled into nothing. There was a cry from the ship and a purple shield of power blossomed around it. Thanos had noticed all his troops were gone. The warrior titan would no doubt believe he would triumph anyway, with the power of the infinity stone at his command. But that was where he was making his mistake. He saw Thanos when he strode through the battlefield. He looked in his eyes, did not listen nor hear what he was bellowing, but looking deep inside his eyes he saw… At first, astonishment but surety – he thought he would win. But as the was of purple collided him and he swept it aside with barely a thought, he found fear in his eyes, as Thanos backed away from him. "How…" he watched Thanos mouthed, and Loki rose into the air so that he was floating above him, a green aura crackling through him. "The infinity stone was created at the dawn of the universe," he told Thanos. "But this magic… It is far beyond that. It is not of this universe nor any other, and it does not abide by the rules of any universe." Loki smiled, exultant, as the power rushed and roared through every inch of him. "It simply _is_ ," he told Thanos, and raised his arms. The entire ship shuddered upwards, strange, primal darkness leaking from it. A thought, and the entire ship was ripped to shreds, and he took pleasure in dispersing those shreds far across the galaxy. Another thought, and the power stone came free of the gauntlet.

The power stone itself was neither evil or good. It simply existed for the bearer to wield as they might wish. But more often than not, it was the evil people that sought it. Or perhaps just people who did evil things, like Thanos. The good would protect them as long as they could, but in the end, their blood would always be spilled, or their hearts corrupted. So, Loki simply reached out to the stone, felt it with his mind, understood it, and then shattered it. And Thanos… He may have been the one to command Oriax, but he was not her. So, Loki did not destroy him – he ripped another portal into the world and sent Thanos back, back to his home planet, where he might live out the rest of his days. He sought with his mind, immersed in his magic, ignoring completely the mortal world beneath him, though he was aware enough of it to protect it from whatever waves of power his magic might be giving off. The infinity stones shone in his mental image of the universe, their power singing to his own. Five points of light. One by one, he shattered them. All, except the time stone. He created an illusion of the stone and destroyed that instead. Only Strange would know, and himself. And Tony, too, because Loki could never hide something from his lover. The time might come, far in the future, when Midgard needed the infinity stones for a power far greater than Thanos, and the time stone waited for that moment. But until then, none would know an infinity stone still lived on, perhaps the most crucial of all of them.

His magic was still strong, too strong. It was beginning to fray his re-born mind, shatter him. He flung himself into it further, hoping to exhaust it enough that it would not eat away at him, not kill him. He scoured worlds and worlds, finding good and bad and ugliness and incredible beauty, and wherever his magic spread, trails of life followed. Barren planets bloomed, children cried with joy as the fields refilled, as forests teemed with life once more. And then it was over, the strange magic nearly gone. He returned to himself and saw through closed lids as the green aura around him faded, collapsing in on itself, and he half-fell to the ground, landing hard near Tony. It had taken all of a few seconds to spend his magic, but in using the magic time had stretched for him, making it seem like hours had passed, and suddenly all he wanted was to be with Tony, safe. He pulled the mortal to him and held him close for a few moments, ignoring the golden army staring at them in astonishment. Everything narrowed down to him and a seemingly unconscious Tony and he prayed to his ancestors that Tony would not just survive, but _live._ Agonising seconds passed as Loki fed the last of his magic to Tony, willing him awake, and then he finally opened his brown eyes. The Bifrost flashed in a circle around them as the golden warriors, bidding their farewells to the others but staying clear of Loki and Tony entirely, were taken back up to Asgard. It was only the Avengers, Fury, and Strange left, not that Loki noticed. The exhaustion from using too much magic too suddenly was setting in, and his arms slipped from around Tony, but the mortal sat up and looked at him steadily. Something sparked in his eyes and Loki found them strength to draw him close again, kissing him gently. There was immeasurable relief in both their eyes when they looked at each other and knew that they would not lose each other, not today, not for as long as they lived. Loki was pretty sure Tony was saying something to him, but the world began to collapse around him, and he drifted away from consciousness.

"What the hell was that?" Fury asked, but he seemed more… Frightened or shocked, almost, than angry. Tony curled around Loki, unable to speak any more, still unable to quite forget the feel of that poison. It was like… Nothing he had ever felt before. That Loki had endured it for even those few seconds longer than he had was a marvel, and he couldn't help but admire and love him all the more for that. Somehow, he had felt Loki's power, too, though he didn't think Loki had noticed it. He'd felt the same rush as Loki, the awful weight of it that Loki hadn't noticed as he'd been swept up in the current. He knew what Loki had used it for – and could imagine the good it had brought to all the other worlds he hadn't even know existed. He didn't answer Fury's question, not yet, but he knew the answer, even as Nat pulled him up, away from Loki, and he didn't have the strength to resist. Fury himself gathered up Loki, and they walked slowly towards Stark tower. Miraculously, he saw, it had not been destroyed. In fact, he realised in confusion, the entire city had been rebuilt through Loki's magic. He barely noticed it any more, wanting just to be able to lie down somewhere and sleep the whole thing away. They entered the tower quietly and Tony felt himself relax in the familiar surroundings. It had been so _fast,_ too fast. Perhaps two, maybe three hours in total had passed, in which the earth had nearly been destroyed, in which he had thought he and Loki might break. In which they had broken, but somehow, what Loki had said was stuck in his mind. _Broken edges are the sharpest._ Ironic, that by breaking them Oriax had woven her own doom. Dimly, Tony felt his breathing, already slightly laboured, turn to panting as his body gave up. He somehow registered Fury scowling at him, and noted the worry hidden in his eyes. "I'm going to have a giant-ass mountain of stupid questions from the prime minister," Fury groused, but he looked awfully concerned and not genuinely annoyed, so Tony managed to huff a small laugh before the room lurched around him, and then darkness claimed him entirely.


	19. 19, epilogue

**Bit of a shorter chapter, but it's more of an epilogue than anything ;) I'll be editing the first few chapters and touching up the grammar and whatnot, and rereading the first chapter I found it rather hard to follow, and then I'll post something saying editing is done, etc, and will mark this as complete ;)**

Tony sighed as he – finally – got to his room after yet another day of being grilled by the people high up who had absolutely no clue what had happened and why. He grimaced as he tried to imagine what Loki's day must have been like – it had taken him and Fury two weeks to convince the government he wasn't about to kill everybody, and in the week since then they'd still been suspicious. On a certain level, Tony didn't blame them. But they could still be stubborn fools, more so than the rest of the population. There were plenty of videos caught by fleeing or stupidly curious citizens of Loki in the centre of a green, glowing aura, light shattering out from him and destroying the army that might have slaughtered everyone on Midgard. But even with the evidence, everyone was slightly wary. Well, everyone that seemed to be in power at the moment – the people themselves seemed perfectly happy to have Loki back as part of the Avengers. Tony smiled to himself, remembering Loki's face as Fury had told him he was now part of the Avengers, yadda yadda, welcome, and all that stuff. He was probably still stuck in yet another meeting. Tony stretched and grunted as his backbone popped a little, before looking at the time and deciding he would just go to sleep. Asgard knew he was tired from all the paperwork and what-not. He stripped off his shirt and flung himself face-up on his bed, half closing his eyes.

He was already half-asleep when the bed suddenly dipped under him as Loki joined him, rolling over to rest his head on Tony's shoulder, letting out a groan of relief as he finally relaxed. "You know," Loki murmured idly after a while, tracing a circle around the arc reactor in Tony's chest. "I don't think I've ever actually mentioned this before." He tapped it thoughtfully and Tony raised himself up on his elbows, thinking. "Hmm," he agreed. "You're right." Loki cocked his head, then shook it and smiled to himself. "it was never that important," he smirked, and Tony rolled his eyes, slumping back onto the bed. "How was your day?" he asked him, though he was fairly sure he knew the answer. Loki let out a small huff and buried his face in Tony's shoulder. "Don't even ask," he mumbled. "You know Fury. And I'm starting to think he isn't even the worst of them." Tony raised his eyebrows, then shrugged as he remembered how Fury's bosses had reacted to learning about Loki. Not particularly well. "Anything interesting happen?" he probed, hoping there might be something. Loki shrugged then his face cleared as he remembered something. "Oh, Fury made me show off to the board," he chuckled. "What did you do?" asked Tony, curious, and Loki held his hand up. A green glow surrounded it and sparks skittered around them. Tony grinned. "Beautiful," he whispered, and kissed Loki.

Loki felt the tenseness in Tony, felt that there was something he wanted to say or ask, even as they kissed. There had been for the past few days. He hadn't probed, not wanting to press, but when they pulled back, he looked Tony in the eyes and tilted his head just slightly – as much as he was able to when lying down, really. Tony sighed and, seeing the question in his eyes, asked him, "doesn't having your magic back mean you are immortal again?" Loki blinked, pleased that Tony had thought about it. "Yes," he murmured. "It does. But it's a conscious part of us that makes us immortal – and I don't want to live for centuries longer than you." Tony frowned and narrowed his eyes at Loki. "I'm mortal," Loki told him. "I want us to have matching wrinkles." Tony snorted and whacked him over the shoulder, before hugging Loki tightly. "You don't mind… Doing that for me?" he asked, his whisper barely a breath on Loki's cheek. "Of course not," Loki told him, slightly surprised that Tony might think he minded growing old with him. He didn't mind; not in the slightest. Tony gazed into his eyes for a brief second, then said, "You can keep your eyes green, Loki. I don't care what colour they are, and it doesn't matter what other people think." Loki's eyes widened as he realised Tony had sensed the illusion. His magic wasn't very strong – not as strong as it had been before, due to the huge amount of energy he'd expanded bringing life to all those barren planets. But he spared some of it for the illusion on his eyes, hiding the fact that they had not reverted back to blue, but stayed green, albeit not as piercingly bright as when he had used his magic. Then quite suddenly he smiled. "You noticed," he whispered, and slowly the illusion faded away.

His eyes were no longer blue, that was for sure. But rather than the piercing green they had been when he had been using his magic, Tony noted that they now seemed more… Subdued. His eyes had a ring of deep, dark green about the pupils and the very edge of his iris, but in a small circle in the middle of his iris was a beautiful, streaked pattern of light green strands speckled with dark. They were… Quite possibly the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen – paired with the most beautiful face. He gaped for some moments, then told Loki, "I need to cut your hair." His eyes widened slightly, and Tony snorted. "Just a little bit – it's really messy." Loki's eyes narrowed then he rolled off the bed and stood up. "Then let's go to my room. It's cleaner." He wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the pile of clothes on the floor. "And I have chairs." Tony rolled his eyes and followed Loki.

Loki had spent a large amount of time redecorating his room, and must have spent quite a few sleepless nights on it, because of their tightly-packed schedule through the day. Thankfully, it was easing off a bit now, something Tony was extremely glad of, and Loki seemed somewhat more relaxed now than he had the first few weeks after defeating Thanos and his army. He'd painted it white, though most of the walls were now obscured by big, deep brown wooden bookshelves, and he'd somehow managed to convert almost an entire wall into a massive window, with white curtains that must be a horror to keep clean, though Loki seemed to like them. Amidst the bookshelves was a small white writing desk and a mirror hanging above it. Tony sat Loki down behind them and produced a small pair of scissors from a case in his trouser pocket – he'd been meaning to cut Loki's hair for some time now. It didn't take him long to cut it now, just a few minutes to comb it out carefully and trim the bottom. He'd managed to get the bottom of his hair quite straight, and was overall pleased with himself for doing so. Loki was squirming and grumbling the whole time, but didn't look displeased when he finally twisted his head and brushed his hair over his shoulder to take a good look. He sniffed. "Not bad," he groused, as if displeased, but there was mirth dancing in his eyes. Tony rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed, sitting down on it and stretching. Loki remained standing, reaching into a white wardrobe Tony hadn't even noticed – it was not very wide, and squeezed between two bookshelves – and pulling out a towel and a clean change of clothes.

"I need a shower," he told Tony. "You do, too." Tony wasn't sure if Loki was genuinely insulting him or just laughing, but either way he simply shrugged and muttered, "Can't be bothered." Loki rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he smirked, then dumped his stuff on the bed and gave Tony a quick, deep kiss that set his heart racing, before pulling back and smirking. "You can stay here for the night," he said, before vanishing into the bathroom hidden behind – here Tony raised an incredulous eyebrow – yet another bookcase. Most of them were empty, but he was quickly amassing quite a collection – and was proving to be fond of really old, illustrated books that Tony had a feeling would most likely in the future create a deep dent in his wallet. And he was a multi-billionaire. But he didn't mind one bit. He lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, relaxing into Loki's comforting smell. After a while he noticed the curtains were still open, even though it was already dark, so he got up with a groan and wandered over to close them. It was a beautiful night, and he smiled as he slowly drew the curtains closed. "Tony?" he heard Loki call from the shower, which was still running. "Yeah?" he shouted back. "I've forgotten my towel," answered Loki, and Tony realised it was still on the bed. He sighed and grabbed it, turning around and opening the door of the bathroom to put it on the floor for Loki.

Instead, Loki was standing right inside the door, head cocked, waiting for Tony. The shower door was open behind him and water was running off his finely muscled shoulders in little rivulets from his hair. His scars formed a pattern he had come to find beautiful, all across his chest and arms. Tony, who had already been bending down slightly to drop the towel on the floor, couldn't stop his gaze from dipping down for the briefest second before he spluttered slightly, going bright red. "Sorry," he muttered, and backed away quickly, hoping to run from the room before he exploded with the embarrassment. "Tony," came Loki's deep purr from behind him, and Tony turned, meeting the god's dark eyes. Loki's voice was guttural as he asked, "Aren't you going to join me?"

All thoughts of running from the room vanished as Loki reached out a slender hand and pulled him into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind them.

The End


	20. One Last Theng (note de author)

**Behold, el story is finished.**

 **I have NEVER written something longer than four chapters, I've always kinda forgotten about it xD And it was to my great joy that I watched my paragraphs get longer and longer in each chapter... AMusing to look back and see the little piddly sentences I was writing xD**

 **Editing is done, there is definitely at least one error which I noticed but couldn't be bothered to correct (it was a capital letter in something someone was saying, whoops xD), but I'm overall happy with everything so you'll have to make do, mwahaha!**

 **I'm kind of... Panicking, right now. I've been thinking about this story and making up scenes and plot and stoof, but I finished it, lay down, and was like, shoot. My brain hast been emptied. I have not stoof to think of. So I guess I might have to write another fanfic... I no like hasing empty brain!**

 **And finally, a massive shoutout to TonyDeservesLove for being the first person to comment on all but two chapters and supporting me the whole way through the story, and a shoutout to Paisen too for a few reviews that made me happy ;)**

 **THANK YOU!**


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